Et in Arcadia ego
by Aribh1306
Summary: When Hermione found that little spell hidden in between the complicated illustrations of a book, she imagined she would get a destroyed horcrux with it, not a brand new Tom Riddle.
1. et in arcaria ego

**A/N:** this fic exists thanks to Miss RSS, who gave me the prompt months ago and who's been helping me with it since then and, now, is beta reading it for me. I hope you like this one and, please, tell me what you think of it.

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**et in arcadia ego**

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When Hermione found that little spell hidden in between the complicated illustrations of the book, she couldn't believe how happy she was. Happier than she had been in days – no, _months_ – and it was as if she could actually see a little spark of hope in the middle of the darkness they were living in for what seemed years. When she showed it to Harry, she saw her friend's face lighten up and a small smile appear on his lips. He, too, was desperate for it all to end as soon as possible.

Not that they didn't know how to destroy horcruxes. She had made her research and found out a few ways, which included basilisk venom and the Fiendfyre. But she knew very well that the Fiendfyre was not to be used thanks to it lethality and that no basilisk in the world would be willing to bite a horcrux for them. They could use the sword of Gryffindor… The sword that was inside Bellatrix Lestrange's vault in Gringotts. Yes, they had a few ways to destroy a horcrux but all of them were out of reach, so, when that unknown spell that appeared in the middle of the book – hidden in the form of runes and symbols between the illustrations that _The Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ had in its pages, like it was common to happen in books about dark magic, a way to stop the reader from obtaining the full knowledge unless he really worked hard to find it. Usually, those hidden information's were about ways to end curses and spells, a way to hide from the world how to finish a dark magic -, Hermione couldn't even believe that she had let it pass under her nose like that.

It was not an easy spell, though. It involved runes and symbols she thought she might have seen in books about alchemy and really old magic, but she was Hermione Granger and, as Hagrid once said, there was no spell she could not perform. At least until now. But, no, he was right: she was a good witch that had an amazing spell work. She would be able to perform it.

And, yes, Hermione did perform the spell. She wrote down all the runes and symbols on the dirt, put the locket where it should be, asked Harry to stay near in case she needed help, concentrated as much as she could and said the words she was supposed to say, making the right wand movements. It was all perfect. So perfect it would be an outrage if that whole ritual didn't work.

But it worked.

It worked very well.

Maybe even _too_ well… But that might have been because she must have misunderstood what that book had said about "finishing a horcrux" because, by the time it all ended, after a strong blast of energy erupted from the locket, sending Harry and her flying backwards, and the dust settled down, what she expected to see was a destroyed horcrux, a locket with its metal structure twisted and burnt, bleeding some kind of dark ink, the way Harry had described the event of him destroying the diary of Tom Riddle. She expected a broken horcrux, an empty shell of what, one day, had held part of Lord Voldemort's soul and not the pale body of a young man that was in front of them once they managed to get up and approach the site of where the ritual had been performed.

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The first lungful of air was what brought him to conscience. It hurt and felt as if his lungs had just been expanded for the first time, filling up with the cold air that burned its way down his throat and into his chest. He could hear his ragged breath and the sound of it was mixed with a soft, rustling sound from somewhere around him. Opening his eyes in an attempt to see what was making such noise, everything he gained in response was loud whimper from himself as he felt an intense burn in his eyes once the light hit them.

There was a voice on the background. He couldn't make out what it was saying but he could identify it as a male voice… And, then, a female one, too. His hands were trembling – no, his whole body was trembling – and when he made to stretch them out to feel the surface where he was lying, he found it was difficult to move, as if his muscles had unlearned how to contract and obey his commands. It was just when panic start to build inside him that a small hand landed on his shoulder, turning him over until he was lying on his back. He screamed – or at least tried to but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a strangled cry – as the patch of skin where it had touched burned.

"Oh God," said the female voice and he was rather relieved to see that he was finally able to understand the words. _"Oh my God…"_

"Hermione, what happened?" He turned his head in the other voice's direction. "This… This is not right… Hermione…"

"I know, I know!" The small hands touched his face, gently, and turned his head. The burning feeling was there again and he lowered his chin in a failed attempt to escape form the touch. "Stop it! Look at me!"

"Careful, he's-"

"He's unarmed, Harry. _Look at me."_

His eyes opened once again and he narrowed them until the pain from the brightness stopped but he still couldn't see anything but different shades of black and white, all blurred above him.

"My bag, Harry, get my bag! Search for a sleeping potion!" The male voice whispered something and he could see the strangers' movement, or at least the blur of their movements. "Open your mouth." He did open his mouth but wanting to ask why the hell would she want him to do so. The girl misinterpreted his action when his voice didn't come out sounding more than a whimper and, before he could react, two of her fingers were inside his mouth, holding onto his lower teeth and pulling his jaw down. A cold liquid was poured into his mouth and, instinctively, he swallowed it right before the stranger released his jaw.

Blinking, he felt the liquid gliding down his throat and into his stomach. The strangers fell into silence and he knew they were staring at him. A few moments later, the feeling of something crawling its way back up his throat made him cough, feeling the liquid she had just made him drink spill out from his mouth.

"What the hell-?!"

"Oh, Merlin's beard." Something finally seemed to get in focus on his vision. It was the tip of what seemed to be a stick, pointed right into his face. "_Quiesco_."

And, with that whisper, he didn't hear or see anything else.


	2. ex abundanti cautela

**A/N:** so many Story Follows/Favourites (_shush_, for me it's a great number of favs/follows, ok? ehehe)! Thank you, guys, really! Again, thanks, Miss RSS, for beta reading the chapter. Hope you enjoy this one.

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**ex abundanti cautela **

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Harry was mad at her, she could tell. The boy kept walking up and down the tent, head down and hands clenched while she occupied herself with looking after the convalescent boy they had brought inside and put on the bed where Ron used to sleep. The witch couldn't blame him, she thought, after all, when she read that the spell would "finish" the horcrux, it never crossed her mind that the "finishing" meant to create a new body for the soul enclosed into the object. She never had the intention of bringing back a young Voldemort but there he was, laying in front of her and, though she had never seen his face before in any other place aside from old photos in the trophy room, Hermione wouldn't ever dream of objecting when Harry told her that young man trembling and almost passing out on the ground, next to the locket, was Tom Riddle.

"What are we gonna do?" asked Harry in a low whisper as he walked past her, eyeing the unconscious boy quickly. "We can't keep him here."

"We can't toss him outside too," said Hermione, hovering the tip of her wand over the boy's arm and muttering a spell that was supposed to lower his skin's sensitivity.

"You know who he is." Potter buried his hands into his messy hair and growled. "We can pretty much toss him outside. No remorse, like how he did when he killed my parents."

"Harry! Stop it! We can't abandon an injured person like that. We don't even know what happened!"

"I know what happened! The same thing Riddle tried to do when he took Ginny down to the Chamber of Secrets but this time he succeeded! We brought him back to life and we were trying to destroy him… Now we have two Vold…"

"Don't say his name, please!" she interrupted him. "Look, lets, at least, wait until he wake up and see what he'll tell us. I want to _know_ what happened, Harry. Obviously it was not the same thing that happened in the Chamber. You told me Riddle, back then, sucked Ginny's life from her body but here… Look at us. Nothing was drained from us and, still, here he is! Tell me, when You-Know-Who gained his new body, how was it like?"

She saw Harry flinching and regretted asking it. Hermione knew the night Cedric Diggory was killed was still somewhat painful for her friend to remember but she had to know.

"Wormtail put him inside a cauldron. It wasn't really him; it was a creepy body… Well, Wormtail dropped him inside a cauldron and took what he needed: bone of the father, flesh of the servant and blood of the enemy. And then he just… Came out of the cauldron, a new body and…"

"Was he weak?"

"No. He was strong and could perform magic perfectly," explained Harry.

"Then it's also not the same mechanism as this." She pointed at the boy on the bed. "Come here. See those?" The witch let the tip of her fingers trace down a medley of tiny, blood red lines that covered the Riddle's skin like a huge spider-web against his pale skin, especially on his hands, neck and face. "These are blood vessels. _Newly_ _formed_ blood vessels. You saw how he spilled the potion when I gave it to him and how he couldn't move very well? Well, it's as if his muscles are new and he is still learning how to use them. Like a newborn baby. He also couldn't speak… This body." She touched the boy's shoulder. "Is a newly formed body but it's not the same kind of magic that created You-Know-Who's body in that graveyard. This one seems to be more… Natural? I don't know, it's weak, like a natural human body would be if it had just been born."

"So, it's just as if Riddle had been reborn?"

"Yes. As soon as I finish taking care of these, I'll go back to that book and search for how the bloody hell that spell did all of this." Hermione shook her head, sighing, before pointing her wand to the boy's skin once again, now muttering another spell which made a few of the red lines fade.

"Hermione." Harry's voice finally sounded calmer, though there was still a hint of worry in it. Turning her head, the girl saw her friend watching her with a defeated look on his face. "Just remember who he is, okay? And be careful. You never know what the hell this… This man can do."

"Okay, don't worry. He's weak and if he tries anything, I can beat him in the blink of an eye, believe me, Harry." She smiled and watched as the other, after smiling back, walked out of the tent in order to stand guard.

The witch bent over to reach her beaded bag she had left on the floor and opened it, grabbing _The Secrets of the Darkest Arts_. She hated that book. It was filled with horrifying magic that made her insides crawl with revulsion each time she read through them and, yet, she did read about those a lot. It was horrible but she couldn't help, she felt like she had to read and understand those spells, curses and rituals. The horcrux's section was one of the worst. It explained in long texts how murdering would break people's soul and describe in every detail the nasty ritual one had to make to rip that piece of broken soul and hide it somewhere else. It was not something someone who was right in the head would do.

The witch finally found the illustration which helped her to come up with the ritual she had used a few hours previously. She had taken all the elements from that drawing after noticing how it showed various symbols representing death – the very thing a horcrux avoided – along with runes that, if her reading was not too bad, were easily understood as something meaning "end". It didn't make sense. She followed every instruction and it should have worked, they should have destroyed the locket and get hidden of Voldemort's soul but, no, instead they got a fresh Tom Riddle.

The girl almost jumped from the edge of the bed as she felt the boy next to her stir. Gripping her wand and pointing it at him, she waited until Riddle's eyes slowly opened and he stared at the ceiling for a long minute before turning his head towards her. He opened his mouth as if to speak but only a low grunt escaped from it.

_"Accio mug."_ She extended her hand to grip the brownish mug that came flying in her direction before pointing her wand at it, missing the way the other's eyes widened as he watched her. "_Aguamenti_. Here." She handed it to him before shaking her head. "Oh, wait…" Hermione put the mug aside, along with the book, and leaned towards Riddle, putting her arms under his and, ignoring his hissing, helping him to sit down, his back against the metal headboard. "Now, drink this. Slowly, we don't want you throwing up again."

The boy's thin hands grasped the mug with an uncertain strength as he tried to avoid trembling. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath when he finally swallowed the water and Hermione wondered how dry his throat must have been and how relieving that gulp of water must have felt. The witch watched as he drained the water from the mug, seeming to have forgotten she was even there.

"So, your name is Tom Riddle, right?" she asked and the other finally lowered the mug, staring at her with his widened blue eyes before slowly nodding. "Ahm, hi, I'm… Hermione. Are you still in pain? Or are feeling a bit better now?" He didn't answer. "Does it hurt if I touch you?" She poked his arm lightly and, although he recoiled, the boy shook his head. "Good. Then my spell worked."

"Sp…" Riddle started to speak, finally managing to force his voice to form a word, before interrupting himself in order to clean his throat. "Spell?"

"Yes, a quick thing to minimize the tenderness of your skin. Also, another one to get rid of those marks."

"A… _Spell?_"

"Yes. I used _Evanescere dolor_ for the pain and _Deminuo vasa_ for the marks…" explained Hermione but, as soon as she saw the confused expression on his face, the girl sighed and bit down on her lower lip. "You do not understand a word of what I am saying, right?"

"I don't understand how you…" he began, his voice still sounding hoarse. "A spell? This is madness."

"No, it's not. It's… Magic. You know magic, you are a wizard…"

"I'm a _what?_"

"A… Oh Merlin's beard," Hermione whispered, getting up and staring down at the boy. "Stay there, I'll be right back. _Harry!_"

Advancing for the tent's entrance, the witch didn't have to step out to meet her friend, who, hearing her call, quickly ran up to her, his wand in hand and his face tensed up as he looked around inside, his eyes quickly finding Riddle.

"What happened? What did he do?" asked Harry, pointing his wand to the boy on the bed.

"He didn't do anything," explained Hermione, grabbing her friend's arm and pushing it down before looking at Riddle, who was staring at the wand as if he had never seen one before. "He doesn't… He doesn't know what magic is."

"I do know what magic is!" Tom's voice sounded irritated as it reached them. "And I know it does not exist."

"What?" Harry furrowed his brows while staring at the other.

"He doesn't know he's a wizard," whispered the girl and then approached Riddle once again. "Tom, ahm, can you tell us where are you from?"

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, sounding defensive.

"I'm trying to understand what happened to you, Tom." Hermione felt slightly uncomfortable in using that reassuring tone of voice when speaking with part of Voldemort's soul but, from the way Riddle looked at them, slightly recoiled on the bed as if he was some kind of endangered animal, she knew the only way to get any information from him was by being gentle and gaining his trust. "So, where are you from? Do you know how you ended up here?"

"London," he spoke after a few minutes of silence and the girl forced a smile on her lips. "And I… Don't know how I ended up here."

"What do you remember from London? I mean, what is the last thing you remember before waking up here with us?"

"I…" he whispered, letting his eyes stare at his own lap for a while, his dark brows furrowing. "I don't remember."

"Come on, you must remember something," muttered Harry, sighing. "If you remember you are from London, you must remember something from there."

"Well, I don't! Everything seems blurred. I can remember stuff but I can't put it in order," said Tom, raising his face to stare at the other boy. "I need to go back there. Mrs. Cole and Martha must be looking for me, they'll be mad if I don't show up soon. Christ, I don't even know how long I've been gone!"

"You can't go back," blurted Harry without even thinking, which was enough to make Hermione slap him on the arm in order to get him to stay in silence.

"What do you mean?"

"Tom," started the girl, sitting down next to the other on the bed. "You see, you can't go back to the orphanage because it doesn't… Exist anymore."

"What?" Hermione almost felt bad for Riddle when the irritated expression on his face turned into a mixture of panic and confusion. "It can't… Where am I supposed to…? _How?"_

"In which year are we?" she asked.

"1938," he said abruptly, just before shaking his head. "No. 1940 something… 1943 or 1944." The boy took a deep breath, his blue eyes locking into hers. "Why can't I remember the year?"

"That's a very good question," whispered Hermione.

"In which year," murmured Tom. "In which year _are_ we?"

"1997." It was Harry who answered, finally stopping sounding as if he was ready to jump on Riddle's neck.

Tom's reaction was quite unexpected. From what Harry had told her, she would have imagined Tom Riddle to be someone who would never show himself to be shaken by something but right now, as the young man's eyes widened in worry and his thin hands shot up to his face, covering his nose and mouth while his chest expanded with each deep, shaky breath he took, Hermione could see how much that small piece of information had gotten him in a state of pure horror.

"No," he whispered, now covering his whole face with his hand before letting them travel to the top of his head, burying his fingers on his dark hair. "It makes no sense!"

"Look, I know it's confusing but you need to calm down." The witch extended her hand to touch his shoulder but quickly retreated it, giving out a small cry as she felt a jolt of pain shot up from her hand and up her arm.

"Hermione! What happened!?" Harry was now by her side, his wand, once again, pointing at Riddle.

"Don't touch me!" Tom shrieked. "Take me back to London right now!"

"We can't take you to London, you twit!" said Potter. "No, we can, but you would die in your first night out on the streets!"

"Shut up, the both of you!" shouted Hermione, taking Harry's wand from his hand and pushing Riddle down to make him lie on the bed again. "I'm trying to think, all right? I am trying to figure out what happened but it's difficult to even hear my thoughts when the two of you are fighting like two kids!" She looked at Tom. "We can't take you to London, all right? There is a war going on and we can't set our feet in London if we don't want to get caught. You would also not make it there, that's not the 1940s anymore, Riddle, so you better stop acting like a spoiled child and understand that I'm trying to help you. And you." The girl turned to Harry. "I have no idea of what happened and I'm sorry… I'm sorry this happened but try to stay calm. We know we don't need another scene like…" She stopped, suddenly feeling a knot on her throat as she remembered Ron. "Another scene like Ron's here."

The two boys quickly fell into silence. Harry whispered something that sounded like an angry 'all right, sorry' before grabbing his wand again and storming out of the tent while Riddle kept staring at her from his position on the bed. The witch looked down to him and sighed before touching his face, using her fingers to pull his eyelids in order to take a better look on his eyes. His sclera was covered with tiny blood vessels, just like the rest of his body.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you or anything of the sort," she said and pulled her wand, pointing it to one of his eyes. "_Deminuo vasa. _Look, I know this is confusing and, most likely, scaring but, _please_, try to cooperate."

"How did I end up here?" he whispered and she noticed how his eyes looked glassy now as if he was about to cry. Hermione gave him a small smile and rubbed his shoulder gently.

"I don't know."

That was Lord Voldemort, she told herself. That boy was only a part of the Dark Lord's soul; she shouldn't be feeling bad for him. And _he_ shouldn't be looking at her with those big, blue eyes filled with fear and confusion. Lord Voldemort was a merciless wizard who didn't know fear or confusion. He caused those emotions. He did not feel them.

"Try to get some sleep, it's better for you," she said and got up, not feeling comfortable with the proximity with the other. "I'll take care of the rest of your body when you wake up."

Saying that, she grabbed _The Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ and her beaded bag and walked away from the bed. Tom Riddle needed his sleep and she needed a good amount of time to understand what that book had led her to do.

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_Try to get some sleep, it's better for you._ It was easy for her to say, it hadn't been her who woke up in the middle of nowhere, without knowing what had happened and with every inch of her body hurting like hell. It wasn't her who was trying to figure out how she had ended up in 1997 and it wasn't her whose memory was completely messed up. Amongst all things that had happened in the last few hours, the blurred memory was the scariest for him… Tom could remember who he was and where he lived; he remembered Martha and Mrs. Cole; he remembered Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop… But he knew there was something missing.

The girl, Hermione, said he was a wizard. That made no sense, right? Magic didn't exist; it was a thing from books like _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ or _The Hobbit._ There were no Gandalfs walking on Earth but still… He remembered the odd things he used to do when he was a kid. Like that time during which he found himself, along with Amy and Dennis, in that cave by the sea in Dover. Or the snakes that used to talk to him. The other orphans used to say he was mad; the older orphans said his mother looked mad when she arrived at the orphanage before his birth; maybe he had inherited madness from her. But no, he was not mad, he knew it.

Did it mean the girl was speaking the truth about magic? He saw how she had used that stick of hers to make his pain go away, just like how she made all those marks on his skin disappear. But could that mean it was magic? If they really were in 1997 it could simply be some kind of really advanced technology, no? But he knew, for instance, what those thin lines on his skin were and he knew it was really difficult for something, some kind of technology, to make newly formed blood vessels vanish like that. The same thing could be applied to the pain… Hermione hadn't used any kind of medication and yet it worked perfectly well.

And he had hurt her. Somehow he managed to hurt the girl without even touching her. It reminded him of the illustrations on anatomy books he had found on the orphanage's doctor's office. Dr. Mazarovsky had always allowed him to take a look at his books and he always remembered the beautiful drawings of the human body depicting its components, from the muscles to the tiny nerves that ran across them. And he remembered very well that it was one of these pictures that came back into his mind right before Hermione cried out in pain after trying to touch him.

"I thought I had told you to sleep."

Tom turned his head. The girl was standing next to his bed, staring down at him with a tired face. Her eyes were reddened and there were dark bags under them, her hair was tied in a messy ponytail and she had a book in a hand and her stick in the other.

"I couldn't."

She sighed, putting the book down on the top of the table that occupied the centre of the room before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Are you feeling better?"

"What do you mean by 'better'?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you in pain…?"

"No pain, my sight is better now, I can move my limbs without hitting myself and I can talk. If that's 'better', then, yes, I'm feeling better." Tom took a deep breath. "But I still don't understand how I ended up here and my memories make no sense. It's as if everything is rough and tumble."

"I bet soon everything will make perfect sense," whispered Hermione and the boy saw how she didn't really mean it. It almost seemed like she didn't want him to understand what happened. "But what is important is that you're no longer in pain. And that your body is working better now."

"Hm." He let his eyes wander across the place. Since he woke up, Tom had noticed that they were in what looked like a tent, a huge tent. Its inside was big enough to hold a few rooms – he had seen Hermione and the boy with glasses walking in and out of the room in which he was several times – and imitate a decent house. "Where's your friend?"

"Harry? He's standing guard," she said. "He likes to be on his own… At least in the past few days, since you, ahm, arrived. We both are needing some time to think."

"Standing guard? Why?"

"I told you, there is a ward going on, we need to protect ourselves."

"You're what? Seventeen? Teenagers your age should be being placed on the countryside in order to get away from the war…" said Tom, remembering how many children he saw getting into trains at King's Cross to go to the countryside and escape from the attacks at the capital. Of course the orphans didn't have such privilege.

"I wish it was that simple to get away from the war." A sad smile appeared on the girl's face. "But this war is not like that. In this war, if you run to the countryside without being protected, you are found and taken prisoner."

"Against whom are you fighting anyway?"

"A dark wizard," she answered and Riddle couldn't help but laugh quietly.

"A dark wizard. Do you realize how much does your answer makes it sound like some kind of silly fairy tale?" The boy stopped laughing as soon as he saw Hermione's face become serious and slightly irritated. "What's this dark wizard's name?"

"We call him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named," she explained. "People are afraid of saying his name."

"That's bullshit, do you realize that? It's just a name." He rolled his eyes, missing the weird expression that crossed the girl's face. "Seriously, what's his name?"

"It's not as if you need to know it," she said, raising an eyebrow as she stared at him. "What you need to know is that if this man finds us, we're lost. He wants us dead."

"What did you do to him?"

"I was born."

"Now, that's rather drastic…"

"I was born to Muggle parents. Non-magical folks," Hermione explained. "For You-Know-Who, those whose ancestry is not magical are not as good as the pureblooded wizards and witches, therefore we shall be eliminated or enslaved. We're not worthy."

"Sounds an awful lot like Hitler," whispered Riddle.

"I think he got some inspiration from this guy."

"What a great inspiration." Tom closed his eyes, noticing how his eyelids felt heavy now. "Had he seen what Hitler did to London during the war, he wouldn't dare to follow his steps." He heard Hermione moving next to him but didn't bother to open his eyes. "Christ, my voice is sounding weird…"

"Your voice is perfectly normal now."

"No, I mean, the way I speak." He laughed. "I'm speaking like a posh person. It's as if I had been brought up in one of those posh private schools. I didn't sound like this and I have no idea of why I am speaking like that now."

"How did you sound, then?" Tom heard a hint of amusement in Hermione's voice and smiled.

"Lets say I had the kind of accent that makes posh people writhe."

"Of all the things that happened to you, you pay attention to your _accent!_"

"Well, I did pay attention to all the pain and inability to move but now those are over, I can pay attention to how elegant I'm sounding. One couldn't say I was raised in some low area of London."

Silence fell between them and all Riddle could hear was the wind outside. It was so different from the never-ending noise from the orphanage… Back in that place, if it wasn't the staff talking, it was the noise of children crying that filled the rooms. If everyone was asleep, some drunken man walking outside would start singing or the loud noise of a car's engine would wake them up. But now, inside that tent – if it really was a tent -, everything he could hear were the voices of Hermione and Harry, and, when they were in silence, the wind and the rustling of the leaves outside. It was incredibly calming.

"Now, I was being serious when I told you to get some sleep." Hermione broke the silence.

"You should get some sleep too. Looks like you need it more than I do." Riddle laughed softly. Both Hermione and Harry looked like as if they didn't sleep for days.

"Oh, I'll do it."

And, saying that, she got up and left, leaving Tom, once again, alone with the sound of the whistling wind.

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**A/N:** I think I can say the amused Tom with his new, elegant accent was inspired by the Tom in KatherineNotGreat's fanfiction _'A Lord's Speech'_. Also, on my tumblr, under the tag 'my art', you may find two illustrations I did for this fic, one for the first chapter and one for this one ( _**captainbrax . tumblr my-art**_ ). Please, tell me what you think of this chapter. (:


	3. dulce periculum

**A/N:** Thank you, guys, really! Again, thanks, Miss RSS, for beta reading the chapter. Hope you enjoy this one.

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**dulce periculum  
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"What is Godric's Hollow?"

Harry rolled his eyes before staring at Hermione. He was not one bit happy in having Tom Riddle sitting in the table with them. Actually, he was not happy with having Tom Riddle sleeping under the same tent as them… But, most of the times, he would find a way to stay away from the boy, something he could not do during the meals.

"It's a village. A wizarding village," the girl explained, watching as Riddle ate the food she had prepared as if it were the best thing he had ever eaten.

"And why do you want to go there? I thought you were avoiding being seen by anyone, Muggle or wizard," said Tom. "A magical village is a good place for those Death Eaters of yours to hide, isn't it?"

"And what do you know about Death Eaters?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"That they are following the You-Know-Who bloke and are trying to find you. But, if they are wizards, it's most likely that they'll end up in a wizarding place, right?"

"We need to search for something in there…"

"Why are you telling him this, Hermione?"

"_Harry_." The witch stared at her friend with a serious expression on her face before turning back to Riddle. "And that's why we need to get to Godric's Hollow."

Tom nodded, putting his fork down, before smiling to her.

"That was pretty good. The food, I mean…" he said.

"Thank you. Now, Harry, he is right. It's risky to go to Godric's Hollow but I do think we might find something there. I mean, it's the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, I wouldn't be surprised to know Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea to hide the sword there…"

"Gryffindor was born there?" asked Harry.

"Harry, did you at least open _A History of Magic_ once in your life?" asked the girl, glaring at the other.

"I may have opened it." Potter let out a soft laugh escape from his lips. "When I bought it."

Riddle raised an eyebrow. Was Harry really making a joke? And in his presence? Something good must have happened. Maybe it was the food: a good spaghetti a Bolognese that Hermione had managed to get on a Muggle supermarket a few days ago. After days of eating burnt fish and vegetables, it was a nice change in the menu.

"Also, Dumbledore may have thought that you would like to visit your parents' house."

"Do you remember what Muriel said?" he asked.

"Who?"

"You know." Potter hesitated a little. "Ginny's aunt. At the wedding. The one who said you had thin ankles."

"Ah," said Hermione and Tom had to fight the urge of looking under the table to check if that affirmative about the girl's ankles was true.

"Aunt Muriel said something about Bathilda knowing the Dumbledore's too," said Harry. "And that she still lives in Godric's Hollow."

"Bathilda Bagshot," Hermione whispered and, suddenly, gasped. Harry turned his head to the tent's entrance, his hand flying into his pocket. Riddle stared at the two, startled. From time to time, the two friends had these overreactions to which Tom was still trying to get used to.

"What?" asked Potter. "I thought there was a Death Eater entering the tent…!"

"Harry, what if Bathilda has the sword? What if Dumbledore _gave it_ to her?"

The only idea of whom this Bathilda was that Tom had was because he had read one of Hermione's books, A History of Magic, during an afternoon when the girl was too busy looming over that dark book of hers while Potter was standing guard. But he still had no idea of who Dumbledore was; therefore, he had no idea of why Bagshot may have been given that sword they were talking about.

"All right. So we go there and find Bathilda, ask her if Dumbledore, by any chance, left her something…?"

"What are you two looking for in that village?"

"None of _your_ business!" snapped Potter, suddenly going back to his usual annoyed self.

"I'll go with you, you'll have to tell me sooner or later," said Tom, matter-of-factly.

"You are not coming with us, Riddle."

"Yes, he is, Harry. We can't leave him here." Hermione looked at the other with an expression that surely said 'I'll explain later'. "We are looking for clues."

"Clues? What, are you playing Sherlock Holmes or something like that?" Riddle laughed and the girl could see Harry's jaw clench.

"This is serious, Riddle."

"I would be more serious about it all if I knew what you are talking about." He shrugged. "I told you I would like to go back to London but apparently I can't and I have to be in here with the two of you. So it would be nice to understand what's going on instead of being left in the dark."

Potter looked at the girl, who was staring at him with furrowed brows, biting down on her lower lip. It had been almost three weeks since they managed to bring him back from the locket and Riddle had been pretty obedient until now, not asking much about the whole situation and, most of the time, being by himself in order not to disturb them. From time to time he asked Hermione about the war but she never gave him too many details, and he never dared to speak to Harry without the witch's presence. He didn't even complain about their constant travels from a place to another, even when they found themselves with water up to their knees when they tried to camp on a swamp.

"May I?" she asked and her friend simply shrugged, sighing. "That man, You-Know-Who, he did something in order to survive no matter what happens to his body. He split his soul in several pieces and hid them in objects, this way, if he gets killed, he may come back to life through one of these soul's fragments."

"Like Koschei," whispered Tom and, for a moment, Hermione felt worried as she saw his blue eyes lit up with interest.

_"Who?"_ asked Harry.

"Koschei the Deathless, from the story," explained Riddle, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. "He was an emperor who separated his soul from his body and hid it in a needle. The needle was hidden inside an egg, which was inside a duck, which was in a hare, which was inside an iron chest that was buried under an oak tree on the island of Buyan, which is an island that can disappear from time to time. If someone opened the chest, he hare would run away to save his soul. If someone got the hare, the duck would fly away… But if someone held the egg, then the person would have control over Koschei. He would grow sicker and sicker but would only die if the egg or the needle was broken."

"I've never heard this story. Is it from Beedle?" asked Potter, looking over to Hermione.

"No, there's no mention of anything that resembles a horcrux like that."

"Who's Beedle?" asked Tom.

"A wizard who wrote a few fairy tales," explained Harry. "Where did you hear this story?"

"The doctor at the orphanage told me. He's Russian… _was_ Russian."

"Russia is one of the countries in which magic has developed the most in the past, merging Muggle and wizarding world," said Hermione. "I wouldn't be surprised to know that this fairy tale was actually something that really did happen and this man was the inventor of horcruxes."

"So… Is it like Koschei?"

"Yes, it is. But he split his soul in seven parts."

_"Seven! ?"_ Tom widened his eyes. "Is there enough soul to be split it into seven parts?"

"Apparently there is. But as I was saying, we are after these fragments of his soul and after something that can destroy them, because it's not as easy as breaking an egg." The girl sighed. "There's a sword that is able to do so, Harry already used it once, and we think that it may be in Godric's Hollow."

"So you want to go to Godric's Hollow to find the sword to destroy his soul?"

"And clues for where the pieces are."

"How did you two get yourselves into this mess?" asked Riddle, shaking his head. "Actually, I think I better not know, otherwise I may ran away to London even if it means I'll get killed on my first night there. But, will we be going to Godric's Hollow?"

"Hermione and I are going there, yes." Harry narrowed his eyes. "We're still going to see if you'll be with us."

"By the looks on your faces, I believe you want to talk with each other without my presence. I'll be on my bed, then." The boy got up, looking at Hermione. "Do you have a book with the tales of this Beedle chap? I have nothing to do aside from sleeping."

"You can't read it, it's written in runes," she said.

"I just want to take a look at it, can I?"

"You won't understand anything but it's over the counter."

Riddle nodded before leaving. As soon as he was gone, Harry let out a deep sigh and rubbed his eyes with his fingers while the witch placed a Silencing Charm around them.

"We can't take You-Know-Who to go after the sword that'll destroy his own horcrux," whispered Potter, hiding his face into his hands. "What did we do to deserve that creature in here with us?"

"We messed with dark magic," answered Hermione, promptly. "I know I shouldn't have done it, Harry, but now that he is here, we can't do anything but avoid letting You-Know-Who know that his younger self is alive. Tom Riddle may be part of his soul but at least he does not remember being You-Know-Who."

"So we take him to Godric's Hollow and expect him to behave well."

"It's better than leaving him in here, with the chance of being found by Death Eaters or Snatchers." She shrugged.

"Well then, I really hope he won't try anything funny. Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"What about his magic?" asked Harry.

Hermione bit her lip. The first sign Riddle had showed of magic was when he accidently hurt her right after he woke up. Since then, she had been trying to watch him as much as she could in order to see if there was any other evidence of magic happening around him but no, nothing relevant had happened. It was as if he was a Muggle, no sign of magic. Still, he could feel its power around him, at least it was what he told her one day, after asking Hermione what was that strange feeling he felt every time he approached the borders of her wards. Something like a tingling on the tip of his fingers, he told her.

"No sign of it yet."

"It's better this way. Maybe he emerged from the locket without enough energy to produce more than that little trick he pulled on you?"

"Maybe, I'm still trying to figure out how that spell worked to bring him back."

"All right." A soft smile appeared on Harry's lips. "So, Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes, Godric's Hollow."

* * *

In the end, Godric's Hollow was not an exclusive wizarding village. That little fact Harry and Hermione had forgotten to mention was a huge let down for Tom, who was secretly expecting something completely different from what he found as soon as they arrived at the village, after the nausea from the apparition wore off. It was a simple village with houses, a square, a church and a graveyard like any other village in England. Not that he had visited many villages but the atmosphere of it was somehow familiar.

It was snowing and Tom didn't know if it was the cold or the fact his body was completely different that was making him so uncomfortable. When Hermione told him he would have to drink a weird looking liquid in order to go to Godric's Hollow with them, he would never had imagine that it would turn him into a young man with red hair, freckled face and big front teeth. He also didn't expect to see Harry and Hermione turning into a middle-aged couple right in front of him, making them look like a random family. Apparently it was a potion able to modify a person's appearance. Riddle asked himself how the hell that was even possible.

"Let's take the cloak off." Harry pulled the thin fabric that was covering them, revealing them to the cold wind. "Come on, we don't look like ourselves and there's no one here."

"We have to find Bathilda's house," whispered Hermione as they walked down the main street of the village, the three under that cloak of Potter, stopping in front of a small church and listening to the song that drifted out of its windows. Tom stood behind them, looking around as if waiting for a cloaked figure to jump out of a corner and attack them. "Harry, I guess today is Christmas' Eve…"

"Yes." Potter turned to look at the church before looking over to the small graveyard that stood next to it. "Hermione, my parents are in there. Do you think we can…?"

Riddle's head turned quickly as he heard what the other boy had said_. 'My parents are in there'_… Potter's parents were in that graveyard. He was an orphan, like himself.

"Of course." He watched as Hermione grabbed the other's hand and they walked up to the graveyard's entrance. The boy waited a minute or two before following them.

The tombstones emerged from the snow and it was difficult to read what was written in most of them due to the time that had already erased most of the writing on the graves and the snow that covered them. Tom took a while to advance from the spot where the red, green and yellow reflection of the stained glass from the church coloured the pale snow, telling himself it was a pretty sight and that he ought to appreciate it for a little while even though he knew very well the only reason he stayed behind was because he felt uncomfortable near Harry and Hermione now.

"Harry." He heard the girl speak and looked over to them. She was pointing at a tombstone. While the two friends took their time to stare, silently, to the grave that must have belonged to Potter's parents, Riddle approached them, slowly, busying himself with looking at other graves. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione waving her wand and a crown of flowers appearing on her hand. She handed it to Potter, who placed it upon his parent's grave.

_"'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death'._ Isn't that the idea of the dementors?" asked Harry. Tom had no idea of what 'dementors' were but, from the tone of the other boy's voice, they couldn't be nice things.

"It does not mean to defeat death like the dementors," began Hermione, gently.

"It means to live on after death," completed Riddle, receiving a curious look from the two friends. "It's from the Bible. The book of Matthew."

"Look!" Harry pointed to another grave near the Potter's. Riddle narrowed his eyes to see the names written on it: Kendra and Ariana Dumbledore.

"_'Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also,'_" whispered Hermione, reading what was engraved into the stone.

"And _that's _from Corinthians."

"We really don't want to know, Riddle," said Potter, his voice sounding more hurt than angry this time.

Tom nodded and turned around. There was a really old grave right behind him, its stone lid was covered with snow until the boy crouched next to it and brushed it off. He had nothing to do and it had always been a rather morbid hobby of his to read the names from graves every time the orphanage's staff took them to church.

"Hermione?" he called, furrowing his brows and letting his hands brush more snow off the stone, not minding the cold. "Look at it."

He heard a soft gasp from the girl as she saw what he was pointing at. On the top of the lip, above the name _'Ignotus Peverell'_, was the drawing of a triangle with a circle and a line into it. He had seen that symbol in the book of fairy tales the witch had lent him back in the tent.

"It was in Beedle's book," said Riddle, looking up to her. "On the first page of The Tale of the Three Brothers. It is not a rune, right?"

"Right." She knelt down next to him, running a gloved hand over the symbol. "Wait a minute, how do you know it was on the Three Brothers? You don't understand the runes!"

"I found your dictionary of runes," he said as if it was obvious. "It was rather easy to translate the titles."

"It's Grindelwald's symbol," said Harry, standing behind them. "The one Krum told me at the wedding and that was on your book."

"Grindelwald?" whispered Tom, as if trying to see how the name sounded on his tongue.

"He was another dark wizard," explained the witch. "He used that symbol as his own."

"Does this mean this Ignotus was a follower of Grindelwald?"

"Of course not, Ignotus died in 1291." She pointed at the faded date on the stone. "Grindelwald rose to power in the early 1930s and started the war in 1939."

"Hitler rose to power in the early 1930s and started the war in 1939."

"Yes," said Hermione, getting up with Harry's help. "But come on, we need to find Bathilda and get out of here as soon as possible."

The boy nodded, following the elderly couple which was now Potter and Granger. The village was silent aside from the music coming from the church and the wind whistling through its streets. Once they reached the empty square, the trio stopped, looking at an obelisk that stood right in the middle of it. Hermione was the first one to approach it, gasping and clasping her hands over her chest after a while. Tom was ready to ask her what had happened when he saw the obelisk slowly changing its form until it took the shape of the statue of a couple. The man had a playful smile on his face as he hugged the woman, whose gentle face was turned towards a baby she held on her lap. Tom noticed the snow on the top of the family's heads looked like little, white knit caps; just as how he noticed the man's face was almost exactly like Harry's.

"Are those…?" Riddle started to speak.

"Yes." Potter's answer was short and quick before he continued to walk towards the row of houses right in front of the square.

Just how it had happened with the obelisk, an open field between two houses slowly started to change its appearance as they approached it. A cottage started to make itself visible, or at least what remained of its ruins. Once again, Tom stayed behind the two friends. Hermione placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder as a wooden slab appeared on the entrance gate. From where he stood, Riddle could see there were lots of different handwritings on it_. 'We believe in you, Harry!'_ was one of the things he managed to make out of it and he wondered who the hell Harry Potter actually was for him to receive a memorial and some encouragements in front of a ruined house.

Potter and Granger were talking to each other in whispers when Tom noticed they were being watched. Turning his head, the boy felt a shiver run up his spine as he saw a hunched, dark figure a few metres away from them, its features being hidden by the shadows.

"Hey, look over there." He tapped on Harry's shoulder and pointed at the figure. Quickly, both Harry and Hermione went rigid, diving their hands into their pocket in search for their wands.

"Hello?" Hermione called and the figure started to walk up to them. "Who are you?"

Riddle furrowed his brows when the stranger's face came into view. It was an old woman, a _really_ old woman. Her face was covered with wrinkles; her lips looked rather purplish and her eyes seemed glassy.

"Miss Bagshot?" This time it was Harry who spoke. The woman nodded. "Hello, Miss Bagshot, we… We've come to talk to you. We think Dumbledore…"

"We think you may have something for us," said Hermione, grasping Potter's arm. Bathilda stared at them for a while before turning around and slowly walking away in the direction of a small cottage a few houses from the ruins. "I think she wants us to follow her. Come on, Riddle."

Harry detached himself from the girl's arm and followed the old woman. Tom and Hermione went after them. The cottage, that looked rather nice from the outside, smelled like mold and another sticky smell Riddle couldn't really recognise. There were books everywhere: piled on the floor, on the top of the furniture, on bookshelves. Tom kept walking inside the hall while Hermione stayed behind, whispering a spell that lit a little light on the tip of her wand before grabbing a book that was on the top of a little table.

"Do you want me to go up there with you?" Riddle heard Potter whispering to the woman. "Hermione, she wants me to go up with her."

"All right, I'll go with you…"

"No," said Harry as he saw Bathilda's head shaking. "She wants me to go _alone_."

"Harry…"

"I bet Dumbledore asked her to give it to only to me." The boy shrugged before following the old lady up the stairs.

"How can a woman like that still be walking around?" whispered Tom, when Hermione stood by his side. He looked down to her hands, to see the book she was holding. "What's that?"

"A book about Dumbledore." The witch turned the book up, showing its cover to him. There was a photograph of an old man with long, white beard and a half-moon glasses sitting on his crooked nose as he smiled to them, his eyes twinkling. "It has not been released yet."

"Are you going to _steal_ it?"

"I'm not stealing it! I'm just taking a look." She scoffed, looking over to a mantelpiece with various photo-frames on it. Riddle followed her and his eyes quickly found the portrait of a young man with blonde, curly hair. He felt odd, as if he had already seen that smiling, mocking face before.

"Who's that?" he asked, pointing at the portrait.

"How should I know? Look, I'm going to take a look over there, just to make sure there's no one around the house." Hermione looked at the book for a long time before placing it over the mantelpiece again.

"Come on, with those cataracts, that woman won't be able to read it." Tom grabbed the book and shoved it in the girl's hands. "You'll enjoy it way more than her."

"I'm not…!"

"Oh, for God's sake." He sighed, stretching his arms to grab the small beaded bag Hermione seemed to be always carrying with her, opening it and, after taking the book from her hands, dropping it inside the dark interior of the bag. A soft 'thud' echoed from inside it when the book hit its bottom.

_"Don't!"_ She pulled the bag and closed it. Glaring at the boy, Hermione turned around and stalked away.

Turning on his heels, the boy took a good look around. At least as good as he could with no light near him. Hermione and Harry had their wands and their magic to light up the place but he could only try to adjust his sight to the darkness. Carefully, he started to walk around the shabby room but it didn't take long until he tripped on a pile of books, falling face first on the ground. Luckily, Riddle managed to support himself on his hands before his face hit the wooden floor. There was something soft and damp under his right hand and, as he knelt, the boy fumbled on it, trying to discover what it was. Only after a minute or two of touching the thing, and starting at the spot where it was, Tom managed to make out the silhouette of a small, furry thing.

"Fuck!" He retreated his hand and got up in a halt, cleaning his palm against the dark jumper he was wearing as he kicked the dead rat away.

_"Riddle!"_ It was Hermione. Her voice was not too loud but it sounded scared. Following it, and hitting his legs and feet on the furniture on the way, Tom found the girl inside a small room that looked like a storage room. She was standing, static, in the middle of the place, her arms next to her body and her wand trembling in her hand as she stared at something above them.

"What's wrong?" He asked, stepping into the room and noticing how there was an annoying buzz echoing in it. Soon, the source of the sound was recognised as Riddle saw numerous flies flying around them. The smell in there was stronger than in the rest of the house. Hermione was still staring at the ceiling and he mirrored her action just to feel a wave of nausea take over him.

There was a huge, dark red spot on the ceiling and there was a dark liquid dripping from it. Looking down, he noticed that thing was all around: pools of blood on the floor, blood stains on the walls.

"What the hell happened in here…?" But Hermione didn't answer. She was already leaving the room in a hurry, most likely to inform Harry of what they had found. Riddle was about to leave when his foot hit something and a soft noise of something rolling on the floor reached his ears. Narrowing his eyes, the boy saw a thin, cylindrical object on the floor. He crouched and grabbed it, instantly feeling a wave of warmth creeping up his arm. A wand. A wand like Harry and Hermione's.

Before he could appreciate the nice feeling that small object was giving him, a loud noise echoed above the room, along with a scream he recognised as being Hermione's. The boy broke into a run, slipping every now and then thanks to the blood that now stuck to the sole of his shoes and tripping over a few books that were now scattered on the corridor. The noises on the second floor were now louder and it sounded as if something was hitting the walls and floor over and over again. He tightened the grasp on the bloodied wand and run up the stairs.

_"Confringo!"_ A loud explosion echoed in a room and, when he got there, Tom couldn't really understand what was going on.

The room was destroyed. There was a body on the floor, the body of the old lady, and its face was horrifying now. His chest hurt as if something in it was being pressed. Harry was on the floor with a huge snake wrapped around him, trying to pounce at him, and Hermione was by the door, her wand pointed at the serpent. Also, the two teenagers were starting to look like themselves once again.

"Watch out!" he shouted and pulled Hermione by the hand, stretching his other arm in a silly attempt to protect them. Miraculously, the serpent was pushed behind, hitting the opposite wall and falling to the floor, hissing and baring its fangs to them.

_"No!"_ Tom's eyes widened as he stared at the snake. That voice was coming from it. The snake was _talking_.

_"Ssstay back!"_ he screamed, pointing the wand at the animal. It stopped for a few seconds, eyeing him as if it were curious, before hissing once again. _"I sssaid ssstay back!"_

_"Bombarda!"_ The spell that came out of Hermione's wand hit the floor below the serpent, opening it in an explosion, making it fall to the lower floor. "Come on!"

The witch pulled him by the hand in Harry's direction. Potter was sprawled on the floor, moaning and writhing as if in pain. There was something under his jumper that seemed to be vibrating but Riddle didn't pay much attention to it, as he was more worried about the loud hissing coming from the room below them.

He didn't see what was happening. He heard the snake's voice in his head, along with another unknown voice right before Hermione threw herself at her friend, pulling him along. Then, the whole world disappeared, spinning and getting distorted around them. Tom felt his stomach fold with the pressure that appeared around him right before he found himself falling on a snow-covered ground.

* * *

**A/N:** I kinda of forgot to say that, yes, Tom is a bit OOC in this... Like, he's not agressive and he's all obedient for now, there's a reason for that, it's not just... random OOCness ehehehe :3 Although I do like to write this Tom, I miss good ol'Tom from Kolybel'naya with all his 'oh, merlin's beard, a mudblood, go away' kind of stuff... Whatever! Koschei the Deathless is a character from Russian fairy tales and when I read about him, my thoughts went directly to our dear Voldemort and his horcruxes, so, here is Koschei. A few things in this chapter mention stuff from other fics of mine, like Kolybel'naya, because... I kind of have this thing that one fact that happens in a fic of mine, will be in another one, like, the backgroudn story, you know? So, the characters from the orphanage that appear in Kolybel'naya, will also be in this fic, like Dr. Mazarovsky, that was mentioned in this chapter. Whatever! The illustration for this chapter is on my tumblr (captainbrax) and I hope you like this one! Please, tell me what you think via reviews :33


	4. ipsa scientia potestas est

**A/N:** Again, thanks, Miss RSS, for beta reading the chapter. Hope you enjoy this one.

* * *

**ipsa scientia potestas est**

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Tom's head was aching, pounding, but he was still in a better state than Potter. He had watched as the other boy stayed for hours turning around in that bed, sweating, panting and screaming incomprehensible things while Hermione tried to tend him with various spells and potions. The snakebite on his arm was almost completely healed now, thanks to a potion the girl had used on it, and the scars on it wouldn't be too big, different from the huge, oval scar Harry was now looking at on his chest. Riddle had seen Hermione taking what looked like a golden locket out of the other boy's chest, it had not been the best of sights as she had to cut his skin off thanks to the fact the object seemed to have burned the flesh under it, sticking to Harry's chest.

"Where did you put the horcrux?" asked Harry, pulling his shirt down once again, not seeming to notice that Tom was there, right next to his friend.

"In my bag." Hermione gave a quick glance towards Riddle, as if trying to remind her friend of his presence. "I thought it would be better for us not to wear it for now."

Potter leaned against the pillows again and finally looked at the other boy, even if just for a moment before his green eyes found the witch's tired face once again.

"We shouldn't have gone to Godric's Hollow. It was my fault…"

"No. I, too, wanted to go, Harry. Really thought the sword might be there."

"Well, we thought it wrong, right?"

"What happened?" blurted Tom, making the two friends turn to look at him. Since they left Godric's Hollow, he didn't open his mouth to say anything. He knew better than that, knew that Harry, in his delirious state of mind, wouldn't understand a thing he was saying and that Hermione was too busy taking care of her friend. "Where did that snake come from?"

"Yes, what happened in there? Was it hiding somewhere…?"

"No. _She_ was the snake… Or the snake was her, I don't know. But, during all the time, _Bathilda_ was the snake."

"What?" asked Hermione, her eyes widening.

"Bathilda must have been dead for a long time already." The image of the old Bathilda sprawled on the floor of the room where the snake attacked them came back to Tom's mind. He remembered how her face was twisted and pale, and how the whole house smelled like mold, rotting flesh and blood. "The snake was inside her. You-Know-Who must have taken it to Godric's Hollow because he knew I would want to go back."

"The snake was inside the woman?" asked Riddle and, for the first time, he noticed Harry was not looking at him with that irritated expression of his. "How is that even possible?"

"Magic."

"Yes but that kind of magic must be really, _really_ dark!" whispered the girl, furrowing her brows.

"Lupin said there is magic we never could think of being able to exist," answered Harry. "She didn't want to speak in front of you because she would speak in snake's language, pure parseltongue, and I didn't notice it, obviously, because I understood what she was saying. When I entered the room, the snake sent a message to You-Know-Who, I could feel it in my head. He was excited and told her to hold me there… And then… She turned into the snake." Potter looked down at his own arm, grimacing. "She was not supposed to kill me. She had to hold me there until he arrived."

Did Potter just say he understood what the snake was saying? Riddle massaged his temples with his fingers, feeling the pounding in his head increase slightly, before kneeling down next to Hermione.

"You understood what the snake was saying?" asked Tom.

"Yes, why?"

"How?"

"Because I'm a…" Harry started to answer before suddenly stopping, staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I understood it too. Didn't you?" He turned to Hermione, who shook her head.

"You're a Parselmouth," said the other boy, sitting up once again and pushing the blankets aside, ignoring Hermione's protests. "You speak the language of the snakes."

"Of course not, the only language I speak is English…"

"You don't learn Parseltongue," explained Hermione. "It's like a gift. Merlin's sake, Harry, lay down, you need to rest!"

"A gift…?"

"You are the one needing to rest, Hermione. I'm sorry but you're looking horrible." A sad smile appeared on his face. "I'm fine. I'm going to stand guard. Where's my wand?"

Tom saw how the witch's face went pale – if it was possible for it to go paler – as she simply looked at Potter.

"Where's my wand?"

"Harry…" She bit down on her lower lip as her eyes became shiny with tears. Riddle furrowed his brows, trying to understand what was going on.

"_Where_ is my wand?"

Tom's eyes widened as he watched Hermione reach under the bed for something and, then, show the other boy his wand. It his wand, broken in the middle, the two parts of it still connected by what seemed to be a thin, red feather. Harry took the wand from the girl's hand, careful, and Riddle could see how his face quickly betrayed him. He was in despair.

"Fix it, please," said Harry, handing it to Hermione.

"Harry…"

"Please, Hermione, try!"

_"Reparo."_

The two halves of the wand were now connected once again but, once Potter whispered a spell he recognized as the one who could make a small light appear on the tip of the wand, the object simply released a few sparks. The green-eyed boy pointed it at Hermione and spoke another incantation. The witch's wand trembled and, then, went still at the same time as Harry's broke again.

"I'm so sorry. I think… I think it was me. The snake came towards us and I had casted a Detonator Spell. It ricocheted everywhere and it must… It must have hit…"

"It was an accident," whispered Harry, finally getting up. "We'll find a way to fix it."

_'I don't think so,'_ thought Tom, looking at the broken wand. It looked destroyed beyond repair.

"I don't think it's possible, Harry," said Hermione. Her face was now wet with tears and Riddle frowned as he watched her trying to explain it to the other. "Remember… Remember Ron's?" At the mention of this 'Ron', the girl's face seemed to be overcome with a sadder look. "It was never the same after the car crash. He had to buy a new one."

Potter's face became twisted with despair for a few seconds but Tom thought it was only him who noticed that, as the girl was to busy trying to dry her tears with the sleeve of her jumper.

"Well, then I think I'll need to borrow another one." As Harry said it, Riddle found himself unconsciously wrapping his fingers around the wand in his coat's pocket in a protective way, even though the other didn't know he had a wand of his own now. "Could I use yours while I stay out there, Hermione?"

Pressing her lips into a tight line, Hermione handed her wand to her friend, who grabbed it before quickly walking outside. As soon as Harry disappeared outside the tent, the witch let a sob escape from her lips, lowering her head and hiding her face into her hands. Tom frowned, watching her. Potter's wand was broken because of her, yes, but couldn't he make magic without it? He had managed to do so that first time with Hermione and, back at Bathilda's, he was sure the magic he performed, throwing the snake away from them, was not coming from the wand.

"Can't he make magic without a wand?"

"Of course _not!"_ raged Hermione, her voice sounding strangled as she turned around to look at him. Her eyes were reddened and her face, shiny with the tears streaming down her cheeks. "The wand is the key for the magic! Wizards like us, used to a wand, can't perform good wandless magic without a good training! And we most definitely do not have time to practice wandless magic! How could I be so careless! ?"

"It's not your fault, you were trying to save him…"

"And then I ended up destroying the only thing that could keep him _safe!_"

"Look, calm down."

"Don't you dare to tell me to calm down, Tom Riddle!" She shouted and he hoped Harry didn't hear it; otherwise he would storm in, accusing him of harming her. "You have no idea of what is going on! You have no idea of how serious the situation is! A wizard without a wand is like a soldier without a weapon on a battlefield! And we cannot be disarmed right now, do you understand it! ?"

"I'm sorry if no one tells me what the hell is going on!" Tom got up in a jump. "I have no idea of how this magic thing works because the two of you keep acting as if I'm going to blow everything up if you try to explain it to me! In case you forgot, I was in there too. That snake came after _me_ too! And I think I may be more confused than the two of you because, I don't know about you, but it's not everyday that a snake starts to talk to me! It's also not everyday that I think I'm having a fucking heart attack in the middle of a duel. A duel, might I add, against a _giant snake_!" Riddle groaned, burying his hands into his dark hair and sitting on the bed. "And my head feels like it's about to explode!"

Hermione was in silence, watching him. Quickly, she sat down next to him, putting one of her hands on his chin and raising his head, making him look at her. The girl's face was still wet with tears but the sobs disappeared as she let her other hand's fingers hold him by the nape of his neck.

"You didn't tell me you were not feeling all right!"

"You were too busy carrying Potter inside the tent," he whispered, closing his eyes. "When we got here, I just lied out there for a while and it seemed to be going away."

"Where does it hurt, in your head?"

"Everywhere. Inside."

"All right." She took a deep breath before reaching for her bag. "Lay down." He did as she told him to, still with his eyes closed as he felt the excruciating pain inside his head. "Drink it."

Once again, he obeyed, opening his mouth and swallowing the cold liquid Hermione poured into it.

"You said you thought you were having an heart attack." Tom felt his jumper being raised right before the girl's cold hand was placed on his chest, above his sternum. "What happened?"

"It hurt, my chest. As if something was tightening inside."

"Did any spell hit you?"

"No."

"Did the snake…?"

"No. The snake didn't get close enough and no spell hit me," he whispered, feeling the pain in his head slowly vanish. "What is happening to me?"

"You're nervous. It was a lot to go through, to all of us. It's normal for your body to react badly." Hermione pulled the jumper down once again and, as she did so, her hand touched the handle of the wand in his pocket. Frowning, the girl opened the coat and pulled the wand by its handle. "What is that?"

"Ahm…"

"Riddle?"

"It's a wand," he said, seeing how all the misery left her face now that she was looking at him with a suspicious expression on her face.

"I can see it's a wand. Now, care to explain from where that wand came from?" she asked, looking down at the wand and turning it in her hand, analyzing it. "Is that _blood?"_

"Yes."

"Did you steal it?"

"If I stole it, then you stole that book from Bathilda too!" he said, defensive. "She was already dead, you heard what Potter said!"

Hermione stared at him with an incredulous expression before turning her head and letting a soft laugh escape from her mouth. Riddle watched her, frowning.

"What?" he asked, trying to hide the fact he was quite pleased with himself for making the witch laugh. It was quite nerve-racking seeing her crying.

"You know what people say about children, right?" She laughed. "They hand themselves in every time they do something wrong, trying to justify their actions or saying it wasn't them. You just did it!"

"I did not…"

"Yes, you did." The witch breathed deeply, running a hand through her messy hair before looking down at him once again. "So you took it from Bathilda's house."

"It was on the floor."

"It's actually good that you have a wand of your own, I think," she whispered, skimming her fingers over the wood. "We never know when we'll be attacked. It'll be good for you to be able to defend yourself…"

"Potter won't think like that, though."

"No, he won't, but I'll try to explain it to him. It's better to have you armed than to have to run after you all the time in order to keep you from getting killed." Hermione used the edge of her jumper to try cleaning the blood from the wand. "Or maybe you should lend it to Harry…"

_"No."_

"I beg your pardon?"

"No. It's mine now. I found it," he said.

"Do you even know how to use a wand?" The girl raised an eyebrow as she stared at him.

"No," he answered promptly. "But you'll teach me."

"Oh?" A smile tugged on Hermione's lips and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you would rather have me being able to defend myself with magic than having to run after me to prevent me from being killed." Tom grinned, seeing a smile breaking into her face.

* * *

Tom's days became filled with reading and magical practice after that night. After a long conversation, Hermione convinced Harry of letting Riddle have Bathilda's wand, even though the boy only accept it under the condition that the other would lend it to him every time Harry was designed to stand guard and Hermione needed to have her wand with her. After a lot of pouting and arguments, Tom accepted it and now, when the girl decided to teach him some magic, she would lend her wand to Potter and, when they were not practicing and everything Tom could do was reading, he would lend Bathilda's wand – no, _his_ wand – to the other boy.

With each day that passed, Harry seemed to become more and more fond of being alone. He would wake up early and leave the tent, looking for food, checking on their wards or standing guards for hours while Hermione occupied herself with reading that dark book of hers and the new book she had gotten at Bathilda's. Tom made himself busy with practicing rather simple wandless spells when he was not with his wand in hands or reading the many books Hermione managed to fit inside that bag of hers. Right now, he was halfway through _An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms_ and was already aiming for the girl's dark book – _The Secrets of the Darkest Arts_, from what he had been able to see.

With Harry's absence being common during most of the day, Riddle slowly tried to catch up with the events of the world, Muggle and wizarding, in long conversations he shared with Hermione. At the beginning, the girl seemed hesitant to tell him anything but, soon, she started to tell him about the war, about the friends they left behind and their former lives. The subject of Hogwarts was his favourite one. He wondered how it would be to study in such place and, every time Hermione told him about the silly quarrels between the houses and their classes, he tried to imagine which subjects he would be taking had he been there and in which house he would have been sorted.

"I like Ravenclaw."

"_You? _A Ravenclaw?" Hermione laughed, shaking her head. She was curled up on an armchair, with Bathilda's book on her lap. "No, you would be a Slytherin."

"But Slytherin is only for pure-bloods, isn't it?" Riddle asked. He was not so different from her right now, curled up in the lower bed of the berth, wearing a jumper over Harry's pyjamas and covered with blankets. "I'm not a pure-blood."

"It also accepts half-bloods."

"Well, I don't think I'm a half-blood either." He shrugged. "Or maybe I am… I don't know. How does one know their blood status?"

"By knowing their parents, obviously," Hermione quickly answered. "Oh…"

"Yeah." Tom gave her an inexpressive smile. "It's a bit difficult for me to know my blood status then. You said the Sorting Hat chooses the house for the student but, in case someone goes to Slytherin, how does the Hat knows they are not Muggleborns?"

"I guess it'll remember if it already sorted the person's parents." The girl frowned. That was a little detail about Hogwarts she had never thought about.

"What if I don't know my parents? In a case like Potter's, he may see it in his memories, right? Potter did live with his parents for a while, from what you told me," said Riddle. "I didn't. I don't even know what they look like; they could be wizards or Muggles. And, if they were magical, they could have not attended to Hogwarts, right? Then, how would the Sorting Hat know if I am a Muggleborn or not? I mean, could it place me in Slytherin if he was not sure about my heritage?"

"You know what?" asked Hermione, laughing. "You ask _way too many_ questions."

"Mrs. Cole used to say my curiosity would only lead me to trouble." He chuckled, shrugging. "Dr. Mazarovsky used to say my curiosity would lead me to great things."

"Curiosity can be a double-edged knife," she said, closing the book she was reading and looking at him. "But, to answer your question, I have no idea if the Hat can do it. Maybe it can feel your magic? After all, it's a magical object."

"So Muggleborns' magic is different from Pure-bloods?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Quickly, her face lost its relaxed expression and she stared at him, looking annoyed. "There's _no_ difference between a Muggleborn, a Half-blood and a Pure-blood. Those who say a witch or wizard whose parents are Muggles has weaker magic are blithering idiots."

"That's what started the war, right?" Riddle straightened himself on the bed, still having the blanket wrapped around himself, and pointed at the book on the girl's lap. "And the former war by that Grindelwald bloke."

"Yes," she whispered. "You have to understand that the wizarding society is not a fairy tale as you might imagine it…"

"Oh, if it is a fairy tale, than it's one of the originals by the brothers Grimm, with all the bloodbath and horrible creatures it can have." Tom laughed. "At least that's the impression it has left on me until now."

"That's right. Well, just like in the Muggle world, there is prejudice and, believe me, the wizarding world is filled with it. It's horrible. There are wizards who come from old, traditional families who believe that we, Muggleborns and Half-bloods, are inferior to them because our families are not magical. They have their own culture and they feel threatened when they see people who behave differently enter their little world. Nowadays, You-Know-Who and the Ministry are spreading the word that Muggleborns actually stole magic from the Pure-bloods. That's silly, of course, there's no way of stealing magic like that. But, in order to get hid of us, those traditionalist wizards and witches will believe any lie the Ministry will tell them." She let out a sad laugh. "And to think we were once taught about how we should not tell lies by someone from the Ministry."

"What do you mean?"

"In our fifth year, a Ministry woman became our Defence Against Dark Arts teacher. Back then, people still didn't believe You-Know-Who had returned and she was trying to convince us it was all a lie. Pay attention to Harry's right hand next time you see him." Hermione adjusted herself on the armchair. "He still has the scars saying _'I shall not tell lies' _on its back."

"And… May I ask why is Potter so mad with this Dumbledore from the book?" asked Tom. He had heard Harry shouting something about how Dumbledore didn't explain anything to them, how the man had asked him to risk his life once again. Riddle wondered if that rather suicide mission in which they were in was this Dumbledore's idea. "He seems to be a nice guy from the book. Aside from his friendship with Grindelwald, I mean… And the whole fiasco with his siblings."

"You are reading it?" She pointed to the book.

"Yes, when you're asleep, I read it. Do mind?"

"Actually, I would rather not have you reading it for now. Actually, I don't even want Harry to read it for the time being. Skeeter, the author, is not the most reliable source of information in the wizarding world and I want to make sure she does not say any madness about Dumbledore that might induce the two of you to get wrong ideas about him."

It was a lie but it was also all she could say right now. Hermione knew that, although Rita enjoyed making up stuff, she _was_ a good journalist. If anyone could discover all the dirty details about Albus Dumbledore's life, that person would be Rita Skeeter. But the truth of her decision of not letting Tom read any further into the book was her fear of having his name being mentioned in it. Of course not many people knew Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort, but that was Rita Skeeter, the woman who discovered about Dumbledore's friendship with one of the darkest wizards of all time, even without trying really hard she would be able to track down Voldemort's whole family, wizarding and Muggle one. And, as Albus had taught him at Hogwarts, there was the possibility of him being mentioned in the book. And they didn't need Riddle to know his older self was the one who tried to kill the three of them with a giant snake back in Godric's Hollow.

"All right," he whispered, looking down at his own hands. Hermione furrowed her brows. His voice was way too quiet, as if he was waiting to say something important. "Can I have another book, then? I'm almost done with the one about spells from the eighteenth century."

"Yes, you can, as long as you manage to disarm me in a duel."

"Are you being serious or is that sarcasm…?"

"I am being serious." Hermione smiled. "I taught you a few spells that can be used in duels and I want to see if you can perform them. As soon as Harry returns, we'll go outside and duel. If you take my wand from my hand, you can have another book."

The witch wondered if it was even possible for a Dark Lord to resemble a happy child in the way Tom was doing at the moment.

* * *

**A/N:** To the lovely readers who favourited/followed/reviewed the story, thank so much :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter and, please, let me know what you thought about it. Its illustration is on my tumblr.


	5. in ictu oculi

**A/N:** Again, thanks, Miss RSS, for beta reading the chapter. Hope you enjoy this one.

* * *

**in ictu oculi  
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It actually took longer for Tom and Hermione to be able to duel. Soon after their conversation about the subject, Harry decided it would be better for them to move to another location, as they had spent too much time on the spot where they were at the moment. At first they ended up in Scotland, next to a frozen lake and lost amongst a thick mist. They stayed there for a couple of days, during which Hermione stood guard, taking her bag with her and, therefore, not leaving any other book aside from _A History of Magic_ and _Hogwarts: A History_ for Riddle to read. Potter became almost mute during the period they stayed in that place. The boy would sit on his bed, taking turns between staring down at that golden locket of his – the horcrux, from what he had understood from their conversations – and silently mourning his broken wand.

Tom used this time to try understanding the wizarding world better. Harry and Hermione had lived inside the magical community for seven years now, they had had the chance to see how it worked in first hand while he could only imagine how the wizarding society actually looked like by reading the books Hermione provided him. _A History of Magic_ was an enjoyable reading and Tom found it fascinating to see how many events on History were related to the wizarding society. It didn't take him more than a day to finish the book.

"Is it true that the stairs move?" asked Tom on the morning of their second day in Scotland. Potter was busy drinking a cup of tea while Hermione was outside.

"Yeah, they do. It can be quite annoying some times."

That had been the longest answer he could get from Harry during those days but Tom told himself it was already better than before: at least Potter was not being too hostile against him now.

On the third day, they moved once again, this time they went back to England. Their tent now stood in the middle of snow covered trees and they could hear the noise of flowing water near them. Tom didn't really like this place; he preferred Scotland's mist and absolute silence rather than the trees that seemed to suffocate them. Also, Hermione looked more tired and sadder now.

Riddle was now convinced the girl had completely forgotten about their duel but, for some reason, he did not dare to remind her of it, not while she still had that melancholic look on her face. Instead, he busied himself with quick practices on wandless magic, something he discovered that came easily to him. He had already managed to make small objects float, the candlelight's flicker and even made a tiny electric chock hit his own elbow. He wanted to try more but was afraid of doing something wrong, something that could make Potter stop ignoring him and start to accuse him of numerous stupid things once again.

From time to time, Tom managed to hear the two friends talking about things they surely didn't want him to know about. During a night, after he had already went to bed, Harry had placed a rather weak Silencing Charm around himself and Hermione, nothing too difficult to break through without being noticed, and they started to talk about the horcrux once again. They mentioned the locket, a ring, a diary, a cup and the sword once again. Unfortunately, his tiredness was bigger than his curiosity this time and, after listening for a few minutes, Riddle drifted into sleep, missing the resolution of their talking.

After some time, the boy also noticed he couldn't stand the quietness anymore. Yes, he did enjoy the silence but he wanted to talk. He wanted to ask Harry and Hermione how things were going and wanted to receive decent answers and not irritated looks or short phrases meant only to fool him. Thanks to this need for communication, Tom found the snakes. Actually, _the_ snake. He had seen the animal sneaking into their tent and, before it could be found by his companions, the boy called it, testing his Parseltongue and feeling extremely proud once the snake greeted him. He would spend hours with the serpent wrapped around his neck, whispering its stories into his ears and entertaining him while the other two human beings that were travelling with him occupied themselves with their little secrets and misery. Sure, it was not much of a friendship but it was already something better than being ignored. It kind of reminded him of his childhood at the orphanage, though Tom was not sure if this was a good thing.

* * *

"Where did _that_ come from?"

Tom knew she was talking about the snake even before reaching Hermione on the room where their beds were placed – it was not really a bedroom, he thought – and he was right, for when he stopped by her side, the girl was staring at the small, green snake that was resting under the blankets of his bed. From the twisted expression on her face, she was not really amused by the animal.

"From the forest, obviously." He shrugged, approaching the bed and taking the serpent into his hands. _"It's all right."_

"You took it in?" Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and took a deep breath. "Even after what happened back in Godric's Hollow?"

"He came in by himself," he explained, putting the snake around his neck. It liked to stay there. "His name is Koschei."

"You named the snake?" she asked. "And after that warlock with the egg-horcrux?"

"It seemed appropriate." Tom shrugged. "We are hunting horcruxes; why not name it after a wizard who created one? Also, where's Potter?"

"He went to look around the place, to see if there's no one around."

"Of course there's no one around. Who would walk in these woods for no reason at all?"

"There are plenty of people who come to camp here," explained Hermione, sitting on his bed and leaning against the wall before pulling her knees towards her chest. "I used to come here with my parents."

"Oh?"

"Yes, we camped here some times. It's rather funny to come back here after all this time and see that everything is still the same… I mean, almost everything. I certainly am not the same anymore." She gave him a sad smile and Riddle took it as an invitation to sit next to her, petting the snake's head.

"Where are they now?"

"My parents? Away," the girl answered and Tom could see her eyes become watery. "They are safe from the war though."

"I hope they are. The last thing I would like would be to see you in my situation." He returned the smile. "It was already kind of bad to know Potter is also an orphan."

Hermione turned her head to look at him and Tom took his time to examine her face. The girl's eyes had dark bags under them and she looked tired – though the three of them seemed to be in a permanent state of exhaustion. Her messy brown hair didn't help to make her look better. It was tied in a loose plait to keep it from falling on her face and to disguise its need for a good wash. While looking at her, the image of girls he had already seen walking around London came back to his mind: in the orphanage, almost everyone was had the same gloomy, poor look, but, when they were outside, they were able to catch a glimpse of richer girls who always walked around in fancy clothes, stylized hair and make-up, like living dolls. Right now, Hermione looked nothing like one of these girls.

"Was it that bad to grow up in an orphanage?" The girl blurted and Riddle raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it depends. If sleeping on horrible beds, wearing hand-me-down clothes crawling with moths, always eating that horrible food and being treated as a poor, miserable child is your thing, then you would surely enjoy it," he said, not even trying to hide the rude tone on his voice. "It's a rather unique experience. Especially when there's a war involved. Everything gets more interesting with a war."

"Oh God, no, I'm sorry, I didn't…" Hermione whispered. "It was a stupid question. I'm sorry."

"But I guess I grew used to it. It was the only thing I knew, after all. I mean, I never had the notion of how a normal house would be, you know? Mother, father and a nice house," Tom explained, feeling the snake slide down his arm. _"Don't harm her."_

"You really don't know you parents?"

"My mother died giving birth to me. My father never showed up. Some girls from the orphanage think she was some sort of a whore because, according to them, no one would marry that girl." He laughed. "Mrs. Cole said she told her she wanted me to look like my father. She even named me after him."

"It's a nice name, Tom."

"It means 'twin', you know? Mrs. Cole said I look nothing like my mother, so I must be the spit image of my father. His _twin_." Another soft laugh escaped from his mouth. "How wonderful it is to be someone's copy."

"No one is exactly like another person. You may look like your father but I bet the two of you are unique." Hermione put her hand on the top of his in a reassuring way, quickly eyeing the snake.

"Is it silly of me wanting to meet him? My father, I mean," he asked, turning to look at her. "He never came after me and he may not even know I exist but I had always been curious to know what he is like. When I was little I used to imagine him coming to get me from the orphanage." The witch frowned as she watched a soft smile appear on the boy's lips. "I once dreamed about it. He looked so real it actually hurt when I woke up to find myself in my room at the orphanage."

"I'm sorry about that…"

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Is it normal for someone to be worried about being alone?" he asked. "All right, tons of people are worried about being alone but I'm not talking about being… Romantically alone, if you understand me." Tom bit down on his lower lip before continuing. "The perspective of leaving the orphanage, for example, scares me to no end. I don't like that place but just to think about being on my own once I leave is enough to scare me. I won't have Mrs. Cole, Martha and Dr. Mazarovsky… Once I leave the orphanage, I'm no longer under their care and they can go on with their lives. I'll be just another kid that left the orphanage."

"I guess the fear of being alone is pretty common, Tom." She smiled at him. "There's no need to worry about that."

"What about fearing being alone in death?" he asked. "The Bible says that we'll go to Paradise and meet up with all those good souls and angels but sometimes I think about the possibility of death being just… A big, black hole in which we fall and can't get out. And there's no one around to keep us company. I remember visiting my mother's grave once, you see, at Abney Park_. 'Merope Riddle, loving mother'._" Tom shook his head, laughing softly. "Loving mother. That's a bit ironic, isn't it? She didn't even live long enough to love her son… Anyway, it was just another grave amongst the other thousands graves in that cemetery. She was buried there on her own. Isn't that a bit sad?"

"Yes but it's how things are supposed to happen," whispered Hermione, looking down to her own hands as she picked on the loosen skin on the corners of her nails. "You are born, you live and you die."

"Unless you create a horcrux," murmured Tom, his voice sounding distant.

"Something you really don't want to do. The creation of a horcrux is not just dark magic, it's the worst kind of dark magic, you see?" The girl shivered and Riddle asked himself if this reaction had been from the cold or the mere mention of that kind of magic. "You-Know-Who was really determined not to die."

"Can't blame him for that, right?" The boy cocked his head to the side and gave her a nervous smile. "Death is a rather scary thing. Ceasing to exist… Doesn't it sound a bit unfair? You live for years, enduring all the crap life throws at your face and, one day, you stop existing."

"You don't know if that's what happens."

"Of course I don't. No one does, right? The dead can't come back and tell us how it is and each person thinks something different will happen. The Bible talks about Paradise and Hell… Can you just imagine being trapped in Hell? I still couldn't figure out which would be scarier: Hell and its punishments or being alone for all eternity," said Tom, frowning. "Or maybe Hell assumes a different form for each person, who knows? Anyway, that's what the Bible says, what Christians believe in, but sometimes I end up thinking about how all of what we are is right _here_." Riddle pointed at his own temple. "Our personality and everything we are is in here. Once it gets damaged, we're not ourselves anymore. Once it stops working, we cease to exist. And if everything is just a big mass of cells transmitting information to one another… There's nothing to go up or down after we die. We just… Die."

"I believe that what makes death seems too scary is actually not knowing what comes next, hum? Men fear the unknown."

"Exactly."

"We're getting pretty philosophical here, aren't we?" Hermione laughed. "And it's not even a good time to do so. These kinds of thoughts only come to me late at night!"

"I guess hunting souls makes you get kind of philosophical about death."

"Yes." The witch took a deep breath letting her hands fall to her sides. "So you are afraid of death and loneliness, hum?"

"What are _you_ afraid of?" He smirked.

"Many things. I'm afraid of losing my parents and friends, of living in a world where I'll be seen as an inferior creature, of dying here." She suddenly stopped and started to laugh.

"What?"

"Have you read about Boggarts yet?" He nodded. "Well, in our third year, we had to face one in a Defence exam. Mine transformed into Professor McGonagall telling me I had failed in all my classes. Imagine that! My worst fear was to fail a class!"

The boy watched as she kept laughing and allowed himself to do the same. It was good, he thought, to let the worries vanish even for a few minutes and be replaced by some silly laughter.

"How silly I was," said Hermione, still shaking and having her words being cut by giggles.

"No, you were young, it's normal for a child to fear this kind of things."

"I bet you feared different things when you were thirteen."

"Hermione?" The witch looked back at him, her giggles finally dying out. "What happens if we die here? I mean, in the middle of the war."

"We won't," she said, determined.

"After the giant snake incident, I wouldn't ignore the possibility of it happening." Tom let a comforting smile appear on his face. "I know I'm not your friend or anything but could you promise me something?" Hermione hesitated, adjusting herself on the bed as if she was feeling uncomfortable, before nodding. "If I die, don't let anyone bury me at Abney Park."

"What? Come on, you are not going to die," she said. "You're safe, believe me. No one knows you are here."

"For now, right? Look, it's just something that has always bugged me. The kids that died at the orphanage were buried there and I really don't want to end up as a random grave on that place, as if I was nothing more than just another orphan."

"All right, no Abney Park. Is there any place you want to be buried in case the impossible happen?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"My family's been buried in a local cemetery near our house. I will, most likely, end up there," Hermione explained, remembering the few Grangers that she and her parents always visited from time to time at the graveyard.

Tom smiled. He didn't want to think about the fact he had no idea of whether his family – from his mother or father's side – had a grave somewhere around England, so, instead, the boy let his fingers caress the snake's cold skin, making it raise its head and stare at him with its tiny, dark eyes for a while before hissing.

"You know, you still own me a duel," he whispered, smirking up to the girl sitting next to him.

* * *

Hermione knew better than to let Tom Riddle duel against her had he been used to perform all the spells Harry and she knew. That was the reason she had even proposed a duel, because she knew Tom's knowledge of spells was not too big until now. That would be perfect: she would make him practice basic duelling charms and, at the same time, practice a few herself. Of course an Expelliarmus was of no use near a Death Eater but just the fact of practicing the moves of a duel would be good enough to make her go back in shape. The only thing was that she was not expecting Riddle to be able to make a mess of her using only the few spells he had learned until now.

Tom was a natural dueller. He used his small shape in his advantage, running from a place to another and escaping from her spells without even raising his wand. His swift movements were also good to baffle her: he was doing the wands movements for a Wingardium Leviosa but then, quickly, changed them, making his wand shot a Bombarda. Apparently, the boy was also good at protecting himself with magic. It was as if he could sense every move she made and, before her spells hit him, he would raise a shield of some sorts. It was rather impressive, actually.

It was only after minutes that she managed to disarm him. A good, silent Expelliarmus while Riddle was busy laughing at his successful attempt on deceiving her once again did the job, making his wand fly to her hand. This time, it was her time to laugh at the bewildered expression that appeared on the boy's face as he looked at his own empty hand.

"You should stop boasting and start to pay attention to your opponent!" It was Harry who shouted it. Her friend stood by them the whole time, ready to do anything in case Riddle decided to do something funny.

Tom turned to look at Harry and the green-eyed boy's face lost its trace of a smile. Hermione wondered what had happened but it didn't take long for her to understand. Once Riddle looked back at her, she felt her stomach go empty. His handsome, yet tired, face had lost its good-natured expression and was now way too serious. After a few seconds, his eyes found his wand in her hand and, in a split second, too many things happened.

First, Tom disappeared, and his disappearance was followed by Harry's scream. In the blink of an eye, Riddle appeared once again, taking form right in front of her as if he had just Apparated there. This time it was her turn to gasp and shout an incantation in order to keep him away from her but it was useless as arm seemed to be paralysed as soon as soon as she raised it to attack him. Hermione felt her own legs bending against her will at the same time that her right hands' fingers extended, letting her wand fall on the ground. Harry was still screaming and cursing at them but all she could pay attention to were Tom Riddle's eyes and how their blue irises were slowly being tinted red, as if scarlet paint was leaking into them.

Tom's lips were pulled back in a twisted smile as he stared down to her; his long fingers wrapping themselves around his wand, pulling it form her hand.

"And I win, Mud-" he whispered and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine as she heard how his voice was cold and dangerous, before he groaned loudly, turning to face Harry.

"Hey!" The other boy had a small stone in his hand and the girl couldn't help but think about how mad her friend was to think he would defeat Voldemort with a pebble. What did he want to do? Smash it into his head? "Get away from her!"

Tom's magic around her weakened as he turned and started to walk towards Potter, wand in hand and a grin in his face. The witch quickly broke free from the spell, her limbs still feeling stiff, and found her wand amidst the dry leaves on the ground.

* * *

The noise of the cold wind blowing almost muffled the hysterical laughter from the man in the cell. A shade of what he had once been, the old wizard looked more like a living skeleton than anything else now, although his sharp eyes still held the same mocking look he remembered seeing in his photographs on the Daily Prophet.

"I'm sure you know where it is," said the old man.

"Tell me, Grindelwald, tell me where the Elder Wand is!" he shouted, his pale hand gripping the other's face. "Tell me if you want to live!"

The man burst into laughing and he felt his magic bubbling inside himself. His hands were shaking and his only wish was to end that old fool's life as soon as possible.

"Kill me then, Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death won't bring you what you seek… There's so much you do not understand…"

"Quit fooling me around, Grindelwald!" A red spell left his wand, sending the older man flying across the cell. "And tell me where it is!"

"It's with him, of course." Another laugh escaped from Grindelwald's lips as he pushed himself up again. "The Elder Wand lies with its last owner, buried into the ground."

"Dumbledore."

For a fraction of a second, the old man's face looked hurt but, quickly, it was lighted up with a mocking smile once again. And it was as if his body was working on its own. He raised his wand and opened his mouth, calling the curse from deep inside himself, feeling the rush of magic going through him as the green light left the tip of the wand, hitting the other man square on the chest.

But, even as he looked down to Grindelwald's fixed eyes, the wizard's words were still ringing in his head. There's so much you do not understand…

There's so much you do not understand.

There's so much you do…

_There's so much…_

"Ouch," he groaned as a bolt of pain erupted inside his head. And he was not the only one in pain, apparently, for he heard someone else whining too, somewhere near him.

"Harry!" It was Hermione's voice. He heard her hurried footsteps crossing the room. "I told you to close your mind! What if You-Know-Who sees where we are?"

"What's the matter if that happens? It's not as if he didn't already know…!"

"Harry!"

"You saw him today, Hermione! I thought he would kill us both on the spot!"

Tom opened his eyes, seeing various tiny, shiny spots dance in front of his face. The boy moaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes before running his hand through his hair in order to get it out of his face. It was just a few minutes that he noticed Harry and Hermione had gone silent as soon as they noticed he was awake.

"What happened?" Riddle asked, feeling his throat dry.

Harry was staring at him with an angry face. He must have done something bad… Hermione, on the other hand, looked worried. Wait, was she afraid? Of him?

"You bastard! You try to kill us and then ask what happened!" Before he could even notice, Potter had gotten up and ran up to him, his bony fist finding Tom's jaw and making the other boy swing back, hitting the wall behind the bed.

"What the hell!?" Riddle covered his mouth with his hands, feeling the taste of blood invade his mouth. He didn't even have enough time to discover the source of the blood before another blow hit him on his cheek, Harry's knuckles whack against his flesh with a strength he didn't know the other wizard had.

"Harry Potter!" Tom was too busy spitting the blood that now flowed freely inside his mouth to see Hermione grab Potter and pull him away from the bed. "Go stand guard! Go! And give me that damned locket!"

Tom touched his teeth with the tip of his tongue only to find one of them hanging loose from his gum. The screams from Potter and Granger ceased and, soon, Hermione was in front of him, one of her hands gripping his face and making him look at her.

"He pulled one of my teeth out," the boy moaned, opening his mouth when the girl's fingers forced him to do so right after swallowing a mouthful of blood in order to avoid spitting it and dirtying both of them. "One of them is hanging inside my mouth!"

"Don't swallow it, you idiot," she said sharply and stuck two fingers inside his mouth. "Hold still."

"Wha'?" He screamed as Hermione pulled the tooth. "What the hell was that!? Couldn't you just, I don't know, fix it with magic!?"

"I could but I don't know how," she said, opening her bag and summoning a small vial into which she dropped the bloody tooth. "And you kind of deserved it anyway."

"Could you please tell me what did I do to deserve being punched and, then, lose a tooth?" he asked, once again swallowing the blood.

"Oh, I don't know, Tom!" Hermione laughed. "Maybe going mad simply because you lost a duel, putting some kind of unknown magic on me and then trying to attack Harry? Hadn't I found my wand in time, you would have killed him. Open it again. Concrescat."

Riddle felt the blood stop coming from the wound even if the metallic taste was still on his tongue. Hermione sighed, turning away from him as she tucked the golden locket that had once gotten stuck into Potter's chest under her shirt.

"Can you give me that potion for pain again?" he asked, massaging his temples. Harry's punches had been enough to make his headache grow stronger than before.

"I think you can stand the pain." She got up.

"Just give me the God damn potion already, Granger!" Tom shouted, watching as the girl jumped, startled, staring at him with widened eyes. "Stop behaving like a child, for God's sake!"

The witch opened her beaded bag, putting her hand into it and throwing a small bottle to him before shaking her head and storming out of the room. After that, the night was just a collection of hours and hours without anyone aside from him inside the tent and, although the potion managed to relieve the pain, it didn't stop his stomach from getting revolted at the blood he had swallowed. That was everything he needed: get punched in the face by Harry Potter, get his tooth pulled out by Hermione Granger, throw up the blood he had swallowed and, at the top of the list, being ignored by the two creatures who made him get in that situation. It was just great.

* * *

**A/N:** A shout out for anyone here who has already had a teeth pulled out like that or that already had the infelicity or swallowing blood. It's the most horrible thing, your stomach simply can't take it and it get all "ew, blood, no, throw it up, throw it up!". Anyway, thanks everyone who reviewed it, I hope you liked this one and... Tell me what you think of it :) Illustration for the chapter is on my tumblr.


	6. in pectore

**in pectore  
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Hermione was sound asleep on the higher bed of the berth and Harry was outside, standing guard. This time, Tom didn't like the silence, especially because this silence had been constant since he woke up from that dream about Grindelwald, one day ago. The two friends had gone back into whispering their little secrets to one another and being suspicious of him, leaving him; once again, to the company of the small snake he was keeping with himself. The boy had given up trying to understand happened between him and the other two teenagers, as all they would tell him was that he had tried to kill them even if he didn't remember doing so.

_"She sleepssss."_ Riddle looked up to see the serpent climbing down Hermione's bed and smiled.

_"Thank you,"_ he whispered, getting up and stepping on his bed's edge, looking at the sleeping girl until he found her small, beaded bag tucked under her pillow. The wizard held his breath, extending his arm and grabbing the bag, slowly pulling it from under the pillow. The witch stirred and he froze, directing his magic towards her in an attempt of deepening her sleep. Soon, she was quiet once again.

As he climbed down the bed, opening the bag and casting a wandless _Accio_ in order to get the book he was looking for, Tom could hear Mrs. Cole's voice echoing in his head. _'You're too curious for your own good,' _she would say, had she seen him right now. _'You're going to get into trouble for that.'_

_"Lumos,"_ shaking the old matron's words from his head, Riddle whispered the incantation, seeing a small, pale light appear above his hand. He had seen Hermione using that spell with a wand and was pleased to see that it worked without the aid of a the said object.

Tucking himself under his blankets once again, Tom took a while to look down at the book's dark, leather cover before opening it and looking through its summary. There were numerous rituals, dark spells and curses listed there, and Tom wished he had enough time to read the entire book. Dark or not, magic was one hell of an interesting thing, he learned that in the last few days, and he would love to be able to understand all of it. Telling himself he would work hard on gaining Hermione's trust in order to be able to properly read that book, Riddle found what he was looking for on the summary.

Tom took his time to read through the pages that explained the horcruxes. As Hermione had said, they were nasty little things that caused a great destabilization on the person who created them: their soul became more and more fragile with each horcrux made, reaching the point of being at the risk of splitting even without the wizard's consent. The creation of a horcrux consisted in two parts: a ritual and a sacrifice. The sacrifice was the wizard's innocence, as they needed to kill someone in order to split their soul. Once the murder was committed, the person's soul would crack but would still be trapped inside his or her body. When the ritual for the horcrux making was done, the wizard would pull one of these cracked pieces of his soul and hide it in an object. In the end, the killing would be the easiest part of the whole thing.

Aside from the long text explaining the subjects, there were various illustrations in the book. Black and white drawings showing wizards performing the gruesome ritual and having their soul being pulled from their bodies, others showing the soul's fragments leaving the objects used as their vessels… There was one, though, that caught his attention. It looked a lot like the illustration showing the creation of a horcrux but had no instructions written on it, at least not in English. There were tiny runes on its margins and, as soon as he saw it, Tom whispered a soft _Accio_ to get hold of Hermione's Rune's Dictionary that was lying over the kitchen's table along with her copy of Beedle's tales that she had been reading earlier that day.

Riddle was halfway through translating the runes, being careful not to make any loud noise and relying on Koschei to know if Hermione was about to wake up, when a noise outside the tent caught his attention. The boy went rigid, staring at the tent's entrance and listening to the sound of someone walking out there. Potter had gotten up from his usual spot and was now walking away, he noticed, from the way the sounds were slowly fading. Tom looked down at the book on his lap before hiding it under the blankets and getting up, walking outside the tent.

* * *

Being away from the wards made Riddle feel uneasy. It was as if stepping out of them exposed him to all the evils of the world but, still, he continued to walk, following Harry. He kept a good distance between them, not wanting the other wizard to see he had left the tent and was now after him, and wondered what had made the other leave their wards to wander in the middle of that forest, under the dark night sky. He was almost giving up on trying understanding what had caught Potter's attention when he saw it.

A few metres ahead of the other boy, there was a silvery form standing in the middle of the snow. The silhouette looked like an elegant doe that was looking at Harry before walking onwards, leaving no footprints on the soft snow. Potter followed it, transfixed by its sight and ignoring everything around himself and Tom followed him. He told himself he was just doing it in order to prevent Harry from getting into trouble in case something happened but he knew very well the major reason for him to keep walking was the need to know what that silver doe was.

The doe finally came to a stop once it reached the translucent surface of a frozen pond and, as soon as Potter stopped on its edge, the animal dissipated into the air. Tom stayed metres away, watching as Harry stepped into the ice and knelt down, rubbing it clean with his sleeve. He heard a loud gasp as the boy got a good view of the lake's bottom and wondered what he had seen in there but restrained his need to approach him. The other wizard took his wand out of his pocket – _'My wand,'_ Tom thought – and, with a silent spell, broke part of the ice, opening a hole that left the cold water exposed. Frowning, he saw Harry getting up and walking back to the pond's edge, starting to take his clothes off, leaving only his underwear on.

"You're mad, Potter," he whispered when Harry jumped into the cold water. As soon as Harry's dark-haired head disappeared under the water, Tom gave up on staying back, hiding between the trees, and ran up to the pond. And he was glad he did so for, once he stepped onto the ice, a loud noise of something hitting it echoed from bellow himself and it didn't take long to realize Potter had gotten himself into trouble.

If he used to think that the water from the orphanage's showers were cold, he would have to rethink his concepts of coldness. The shock of diving into the freezing water made his head spin for a few seconds before he managed to open his eyes and see what was going on under the ice.

Potter was trashing about, occasionally hitting the ice above them, and, from what he could see, it was the golden locket that dragged the other boy around, reaching for the ice every now and then as if trying to escape. The corner of his eyes also caught the sight of something shiny lying on the bottom of the pond but he was too worried about the way the locket's chain was tightened around Harry's neck, already digging into his skin. Riddle moved his legs, relieved to see that even though he had no idea of how to swim, this simple movement was enough to make him approach the other wizard.

Potter's eyes widened as Tom's hands came in contact with the skin of his neck, tugging at the chain in a useless effort to loosen it. The locket, as if sensing that someone was trying to get it away from Harry, wrapped the rest of its chains around Riddle's hand and arm, trapping him. The spots where the chain touched his skin burned as the metal dig into his flesh just how it had done on Potter's neck. Panic started to rise inside his chest as he noticed there was no way of releasing the locket's chain. His head was starting to feel dizzy with the lack of oxygen and, in an involuntary attempt to breath; Tom swallowed a mouthful of water.

Riddle's vision was starting to darken when he felt something tugging him by the back of his shirt. Hermione had found them and, after saving their lives, she would give them the worst lecture they would ever hear from someone he was sure of it… He could even imagine her voice as soon as she pulled them out of the water: _'Are the both of you mad!?"_

Only that it was not Hermione's irritated voice that he heard. After a few good minutes coughing and spitting the cold water on the ground and cradling his hand against his body – there were deep cuts on his flesh where the chain had wrapped itself around his hand – it wasn't the witch's voice that caught his attention but a deeper, unknown voice that was being directed at them. Or, at least, at Harry.

"Are… you… _mad_!?"

Tom watched as Harry's eyes widened before his head snapped up to look at who was talking to them. Riddle coughed a few more times before turning to see a red haired boy standing behind them. His clothes were soaked wet and he had the locket in one hand, dangling by its broken chain, and a shiny sword on the other.

"Why the bloody hell didn't you take that thing off before diving?" the ginger asked, swinging the locket on its chain.

Riddle wrapped his arms around himself in order to try keeping himself warm as he watched Potter put his clothes back on.

"W-Was it you?" Harry asked in a weak voice.

"Well, yes…"

"You… You performed the Patronus?"

"What? Of course not! I thought it had been you!"

"My Patronus is a deer."

"Oh, yeah. I thought it looked different." The stranger raised his hands above his head as if indicating that there was something on it. "No antlers."

"How did you end up here?" Tom was staring at them in silence and wondered who the hell that kid was.

"Well, I… You see… I came back. If, hum, you guys want me back…" The red haired boy ran a hand through his hair before looking down at Riddle. "Who's that?"

"It's a long story, Ron," said Harry. "I'll explain it later. Now, did you see someone else around here?"

"No. I mean, I was searching for you guys for hours, this place is huge! Then I saw the silver doe and you coming after it," he explained and then pointed at Tom. "And then he appeared and got into the lake after you. But when the two of you didn't come up again, I went in. But aside from the two of you, there was no one."

"Then how did the sword end up in there?" asked Tom and, once again, the stranger glanced at him with a suspicious expression on his face.

"The person who conjectured the Patronus put it in there," said Harry.

"Do you think this is the real one?"

"The real one? Do you mean there are more swords?" Riddle asked before sighing as he was ignored by the two boys who were staring at the sword.

"There's only one way to know, right?" Tom watched as Harry looked down at the locket, held firmly by the other boy – Ron, and was it his name? – and frowned, feeling the cuts on his hand stinging. He had seen what that thing was able of doing and, now, he strongly believed the locket had tried to kill them both as it sensed they Potter was trying to reach for the sword to destroy it. So the horcruxes were like Koschei's hidden soul: they did have a life inside themselves and this fragment of life tried to defend itself. Tom didn't know if this fact made him interested or terrified.

"Come on." Harry started to walk into the forest again, stopping by a flat stone on which he placed the locket. Ron offered him the sword but he simply shook his head. "No, you do it."

"Me? Why?"

"Because you took it from the lake. It must have chosen you. I'll open it, okay? Whatever is in there will try to defend itself. The piece of Ri-_Him_ in that diary tried to kill me. I'll ask for it to open in Parseltongue."

"No! Harry, no! I can't…" Tom finally got up from the ground, watching as the two boys kept talking. He wanted to go back to the tent, he had had enough of that locket for the day but, at the same time, he knew he had to stay and see how they would destroy that thing. "I can't fight this thing. It affects me way more than it affects you and Hermione! It made me think about horrible things, I can't explain, but once I took it off, my head went back to normal. I can't do it, Harry!"

Tom took a few steps back, standing behind Ron as the ginger shook his head. From there, he would have a good view of whatever they would do with the object.

"You can do it," said Harry. "I know you can! You took the sword out of the water; I know it's you the one who has to use it. Please, destroy the locket, Ron."

The red haired wizard took a deep breath before nodding and approaching the stone once again.

"When?"

"On the count of three. And _you!"_ Harry called, finally looking at Tom. "Don't try anything funny!"

"As if I could," the boy whispered, crossing his arms in front of his chest and preparing himself for the show he was about to watch.

"One… Two… Three… _Open_."

When the tiny lids opened on Potter's hissed command, Tom felt his breath falter. Icy blue eyes were staring from inside the glass that covered the locket's interior. He knew those eyes. He had received numerous compliments regarding his eyes during his life and he would surely recognize them anywhere in the world… And there, inside the locket, staring at Ron, were _his_ eyes.

"Stab it with the sword!" said Harry, holding the locket down. The ginger raised the sword, its tip hovering right above the eyes inside the object.

"_I have seen your heart."_ Riddle felt a shiver run down his spine as he recognized the voice that echoed from the horcrux. _His_ voice. His voice was coming out of that thing. _"And it's mine."_

"Don't listen to him! Kill it!"

"Potter, what's going on?" Tom shouted but was not heard by the green-eyed boy. "Potter!"

_"I've seen your dreams, Ron Weasley, and I've seen your fears."_ The voice – his voice – kept coming from the locket, echoing around the trees and making him start to tremble. Something deep in his chest was tightening. _"Everything you seek is possible but so is everything you fear…"_

"Kill it!"

_"Always the least loved by your mother who longed for a daughter… Least loved by the girl who prefers your friend… Always the second, always, eternally a shadow…"_

"Ron, stab it now!" shouted Harry and Tom saw his eyes in the locket shine.

And then, from the horcrux, two figures started to sprout. At first they didn't have a definite shape but, slowly, Riddle recognized Harry and Hermione's face and, then, their bodies. The boy's eyes widened as he watched the copies of the teenagers float in the air, above Ron. Horcrux-Potter looked taller and stronger while Horcrux-Hermione looked more beautiful and dangerous as she looked down to the red haired wizard, laughing.

"Why did you come back? We were better without you, _happier_ without you, we were happy you were gone… We laughed at your stupidity. Your cowardice, your presumption…" said Horcrux-Harry with a voice that seemed to be a blend of Tom and Harry's.

_"Presumption!"_ Horcrux-Hermione laughed harder, shaking her head and making her hair float around her. Ron stayed petrified, staring at them with a horrified expression. "Who could look at you, who would ever look at you next to Harry Potter? What have you done compared to the Chosen One? Who are you compared to the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Ron, stab it_, STAB IT!"_

"Your mother confessed," mocked Horcrux-Harry while the girl giggled. "That she wished I was her son, that she would be happy to have me in your place…"

"Who wouldn't prefer him, which woman would accept you? You are nothing, nothing, _nothing_ next to him," hummed Horcrux-Hermione, wrapping her arms around Horcrux-Harry, hugging him until their lips met.

"Come on, Ron!"

And then everything around him was nothing more than noises and blurred images. Potter was still screaming and, then, Ron's voice was added to the shouts, his scream seeming to become endless in Tom's ears. And then, deep inside his chest, on the point where a knot seemed to be formed, a huge, excruciating bolt of pain exploded. It was as if something inside him was burning and its flame was spreading to every corner in his body. He could hear his heart beating against his chest's walls and the pain following the rhythm of its beats. His hand found the front of his sweater, gripping on it as if it would help in anything and, soon, he was not listening to anything anymore. Not the screams from Harry and Ron, not the sound of the voice coming from the horcrux, not the wind, not his own screams, not his heartbeats… Only silence.

* * *

**A/N:** Another one! Thanks, again, Miss RSS, for beta reading it, and thanks to everyone who reviewed the last few chapters :) I hope you liked this chapter, it really liked to write it and the last scene was one of the first scenes to come to my mind once I started to work with this plot. As I'm traveling, I couldn't draw something for it right now, so I just made a really... horrible graphic and it's on my tumblr, under the tag "my graphics". Again, hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think of it.


	7. homo praesumitur bonus donec

******homo praesumitur bonus donec probetur malus **

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There was a crying girl on the stall. Her sobs echoed inside the bathroom along with his voice, hissing words in Parseltongue. There was a snake, coming out of the sink and, then, the crying girl was not sobbing anymore but remained in silence, fallen on the floor with her dark eyes wide open. Then there was a man, he was crying too, even harder than the girl. As he held the hand of an old lady whose body was sprawled on the floor, his sobs shook his tall body with such violence Tom had never seen before. The man's face was an older copy of his own and Riddle just wanted to finish him as soon as possible as he heard him begging… _Please, please, please._ The man disappeared and an old woman took his place, her painted face smiling to him shortly before her expression became one of horror. Then, another man. A beggar, from his looks, looking up at him, confused, before ending up like the crying girl: dead.

And pain. The ripping pain in his body, as if someone had been pulling part of his organs out of his it, was there. For each person, there was another bolt of pain. He remembered the voice coming from the locket and the copies of Harry and Hermione mocking the red haired boy. _His_ voice mocking him, _his_ magic tempting him.

"You brought You-Know-Who back?" he managed to make out a voice from amidst Horcrux-Harry and Horcrux-Hermione's mockeries.

"Part of him. Part of his soul. It was an accident."

"But why is he _here_?"

"We couldn't have abandoned him in the middle of the forest, Ron!" It was Hermione's voice. The _real_ Hermione's voice, caring and stubborn, not dangerous and mocking Hermione.

"Then why didn't you, you know, finish him off?"

"And get down to the same level as You-Know-Who? No, thanks."

" 'Mione." It was Potter speaking now. "We might have pulled him from the locket but there was still another part of his soul in it. We divided the fragment of the locket in two and Ron destroyed one of them."

"But the other part is still here." Tom felt his throat hurt as his voice came out, sounding hoarse. His eyes were still closed but the boy could feel the stare of the three friends falling onto him as he raised his hand, which felt heavier than usual, and tapped, on his own sternum.

There was a moment of silence before he heard the rustling sound of someone moving. Soon, there was a hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back. Instinctively, Riddle relaxed under the touch, recognizing it as Hermione's.

"Are you all right?"

"Do I look all right?" he managed to speak, taking a deep breath and wincing as a faint pain appeared on his chest. "For how long have I dozed off?"

"Not at all." Hermione's hand left his forehead and found the side of his throat. "And you've been unconscious for almost a day now. Are you in pain? I can give you some of that sleeping potion…"

"I've been sleeping for almost twenty four hours, Hermione; I don't think I need more sleep." The boy opened his eyes, staring at the witch's concentrated face. Her fingers were still in contact with his skin. "What are you doing?"

"Checking your pulse," she answered. "It was really faint and slow for hours now."

Riddle turned his head and saw Potter and the red haired boy from the forest sitting in the middle of the tent. Under a better light, he could make out the ginger's appearance with more precision. Ron – if he recalled his name correctly – was taller than he and Harry, had a long nose, bright blue eyes and numerous freckles on his face. His hair was redder than it looked in the darkness of the forest. As he looked at the other boy, the image of the copy of Harry and Hermione that came out of the locket appeared on his head once again, and, at that memory, he turned his gaze to Hermione. Her hair was messy; her face looked tired; her eyes were bloodshot and had dark bags under them and her expression was that of worry… _That_ was the Hermione he was used to.

"Is the ginger your friend?" he asked in a whisper, not wanting to be heard by the other boys.

"Yes, he is."

"You know about the horcruxes?" It was Harry's voice that made him look away from the girl.

"Harry."

"I think I managed to make things out after your friend stabbed the locket," said Tom, trying to raise his voice in order to be heard by them. "And I ended up feeling the stab."

"Then you should have died, shouldn't you?" asked Ron and Riddle didn't even try to resist the urge of rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I think it would be really more polite from my part to die back there." He shrugged. "I'm sorry I survived."

"How did he survive, Hermione?"

"How will I know, Harry?" asked the girl, turning to look at the other boys as Tom tried to sit up.

"It was you who were reading that book on the horcruxes."

"Before you begin with your theories," said Riddle, making the three friends look back at him. "Would any of you care to explain to me what the hell is going on?"

"As you said," Ron spoke. "You already put the pieces in place, didn't you? When I destroyed the locket."

"Yes but I would very much like to hear it from someone else. From someone who is not in the shadows, like I am." Tom looked over to Hermione and, then, to Harry. "Those horcruxes are they… Mine?"

He didn't know if it was the silence or the worried expression that took place in the teenagers faces that made him sure of his suspicions. Hermione looked down to her own hands, biting down on her lower lip, while Harry furrowed his brows, looking more strained than irritated by the question. The ginger mirrored Potter's expression and Tom thought about how silly he looked as he did so.

"That You-Know-Who bloke," he whispered and, for the first time in days, felt really confused, like when he first woke up in the company of Potter and Granger. "He's… Me, isn't he? The locket was his horcrux and it was I who suffered from the injury inflicted upon it. That means it's part of my soul that is- _Was_ confined into it, am I right?"

"Yes." It was Harry who answered him and Tom had to breathe deeply in order to prevent his expression from faltering. "We were trying to find a way to destroy the locket, Hermione and I, and she found this… Spell-"

"Ritual," corrected Hermione.

"Right, we found this ritual which was supposed to destroy a horcrux but it didn't. Instead, you happened." The green-eyed boy pointed at Riddle, shrugging. "We still don't know why it resulted in you coming out of the horcrux and not destroying it. And we also don't know why it was just a part of the soul that escaped from it."

"From what I read, the soul comes out as a whole from inside a horcrux," the girl explained. "But, as you came out, the locket was still a horcrux; it was still a vessel for his soul. I must have done something wrong because it was supposed to finish the horcrux and not… Bring its soul back."

"You didn't do anything wrong at all," whispered Tom, remembering the pages he had read in _The Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ right before stalking after Harry. "The ritual you found out about, was it one that involved blood and other stuff like that? It was described in an illustration."

"Yes." She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him.

"How do you know that?"

"Because he stole my book last night, didn't you?" Hermione asked. "I found it on your bed after Harry and Ron brought you back."

"You can't blame me, Hermione." Tom allowed a tiny smile tug on his lips. "You did promise me any book in case I won a duel against you and, from what you and Potter said, I did win…"

"After going mad and attacking me with dark magic!"

"Oi, could you two stop that and tell us what happened? About the horcrux, I mean," said Harry, waving his hands in order to get their attention.

"As I was saying, I saw it, this ritual's description. The thing is: it was, indeed, made to finish a horcrux," he explained. "But not to finish it in the way you thought."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the ritual you performed was aimed to be the last step of the creation of a horcrux," said Riddle, watching as Hermione's eyes widened. He heard a soft 'what?' coming from the ginger boy but didn't care to look at him. "From what the book says, the act of extreme evilness cracks the soul. Another act of evilness pulls it from the body and confines it into an object, which would be the first ritual. So, evilness makes a horcrux stronger. The more wickedness in the fragment of the soul, the stronger the horcrux is. But a soul is composed by evilness and goodness…"

"Not You-Know-Who," whispered Ron.

_"A soul is composed by evilness **and** goodness," _Tom repeated, glaring at the red haired boy. "And, as long as there is a hint of goodness inside the horcrux, it'll weaken it, even if just a bit. So that ritual of yours was made to extract the weak part of the soul." He pointed at himself. "And, therefore, finish the horcrux."

"But… It can't be," murmured Hermione.

"Are you sure of that, Riddle?" asked Harry.

"No, this is what I made out from a single reading," he explained. "So, I would very much like to take a better look at the book in order to confirm it."

* * *

It was her fault. It was her fault that they had a younger Lord Voldemort inside their tent. How could she get caught in such a silly translation mistake? No, not even a translation mistake because she did manage to translate the runes perfectly. It was just an interpretation mistake. And it led to such a great mess! Now they had Tom Riddle trapped with them, knowing they were after his horcruxes and getting more and more information about his other-self and his powers each day that passed. Even if the boy had said he was, as he put it, "the weaker part of his soul", Hermione couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until he turned back to his original self. After all, he had attacked her in a rather Voldemort-_esque_ way and she wouldn't forget so easily those blue eyes of his suddenly turned to the scarlet red of Voldemort's back in the occasion.

And it was all her fault.

"You worry too much."

The girl raised her head to look at Tom, who was sitting on the couch in front of her armchair. He had _The Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ on his lap and he was still on Harry's pyjamas, with a jumper over it. His face was still too pale and, in her opinion, he shouldn't be out of bed.

"I have reasons to worry."

"Me," he blurted, giving her a half-hearted smile.

"You're one of them," she said, rubbing her face before looking back at the _Tales of Beedle, the Bard._

"And the other pieces of my soul are the rest." The girl didn't raise her head to look at him as he talked but felt an odd tone in his voice. "You won't tell me more about my… My other self, right?"

"There's not much to tell you about. He's evil and did a great damage to our world," Hermione explained, sighing. "We're trying to stop him because he's wrong."

"What you told me about the wizards who don't like Muggles, was it me who began with all that stuff?"

"No, but he gave strength to this kind of thought. Where are Harry and Ron?"

"Outside. Your ginger friend does not seem to like me much."

"Neither does Harry," whispered Hermione, looking up to him as he heard him chuckling. "Tom?"

"Yes."

"Stop referring to him as 'me', all right?" The boy's eyebrows furrowed as he stared at her. "The idea that I have of You-Know-Who is, well, not of a teenager boy. It's something like a monster in a story, you see?"

"Glad to know I don't fit in the shoes of a monster," he whispered. "Yet."

"Stop it."

"I know you're thinking the same thing," said Tom, a small pout appearing on his lips. "How long until Tom Riddle becomes You-Know-Who? How long until he goes mad and kill us all?"

"Stop putting words in my mouth, Riddle." She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I'm just saying what is in your head."

"You are looking into my head!?" Hermione gasped, quickly raising her Occlumens walls. She was not good with Occlumency, yet, but apparently that was enough to keep Tom out by the look on his face. "Since when?"

"I noticed I could do it sometime after the locket incident. Weasley's mind is kinda weak."

"Don't say that about Ron."

"Can my other self-do that too?" he asked, abruptly.

"Yes, he can."

"Then your friend should learn to make his mind stronger, after all, you're against someone who can easily look at all of your thoughts and…"

"Stop behaving like that!" she shrieked, watching as Riddle's eyes snapped back at her. "You should not want to be him! It's not a nice thing to be, it's a horrible thing to be, actually! Stop acting as if you are him, as if you _understood_ him!"

"This may be news to you, Hermione, but I do not want to be him. The ones who want me to be him, who expect me to go mad and kill everyone, are you and your friends! Even if I couldn't look into your minds, I would have understood that Potter hates me because he thinks I am You-Know-Who! That the ginger hates me because my effing horcrux tried to tempt him – and he, I might add, almost succumbed to it. That you don't trust me because you think I'll murder you because of your Muggle blood!" The girl frowned, not expecting Riddle's face to turn into that depiction of sadness. "You are turning me into him. Now, talk about putting words in someone else's mouth."

Hermione stared at him for a long minute before sighing and getting up. She rolled her eyes as the boy moved to the far end of the couch once she sat down next to him. There were times during which she would see Tom as a small boy.

"You have to understand that it is a bit difficult not to picture you as him."

"You just said…"

"I know what I just said." She sighed. "But we relate you to You-Know-Who because, well, we learned that he was you a long time ago."

"When?" he asked, his blue eyes shining with curiosity.

"When we were twelve. But that's not important." The witch stretched her arm in order to rest her hand on his shoulder, giving him a comforting smile. "But at the same time, it's difficult for me to relate you with him… Especially after talking to you for a few minutes."

"Why? Do you think he wouldn't want to talk with you about death and all that philosophical stuff we talked about a few days ago?" The wizard laughed and Hermione took this as a permission to get nearer.

"No, he would start to give a speech on how he would never die. Tom?" She watched until his laughter died out. "I've been thinking about this for quite some time now… How old are you?"

"I wish I knew," he said. "You're not the only one thinking about this detail."

"Oh. I mean, you don't look much older than we and yet we know You-Know-Who created the locket when he was in his early twenties, I think," Hermione explained. "Then you should look at least a bit older."

"People always told me I looked younger than I really was?" he guessed. "But maybe… Maybe the piece of the soul inside the horcrux is not equivalent to the person's age when it was created? The killing cracks the soul but its fragments remain inside the body until the creation of the horcrux is done. I think that, when you make the ritual to create the horcrux, the magic will simply pick a random piece of the soul and put it inside the object."

"But then you would look younger. Your first killing was at the age of fifteen…"

"What?" asked Tom, his eyes widened.

"Oh, I guess you didn't know about… Myrtle, or didn't remember," whispered Hermione. "Well, You-Know-Who killed a girl when he was still in school. Her name was Myrtle and she was a Muggleborn. The first crack on your soul came from her murder."

"Then, if I was a fragment created by that murder, I would be fifteen."

"I guess…"

"And the next horcrux was this one already? The locket, I mean."

"No, there was another one, when you were sixteen. You turned a ring into a horcrux," said Hermione, feeling apprehensive on approaching the subject. "It has already been destroyed."

"And who… Who did I kill?" asked Riddle and the girl couldn't understand what was the expression on his face. He looked curious, sure, but there was also a great shadow of worry over his features.

"You know what? We actually shouldn't be talking about it. And, as I told you already, you are not You-Know-Who, you're a different person and…"

"Who did I kill, Hermione?" he demanded and the witch stared at him for a while before sighing.

"Tom Riddle," she whispered, watching as he scowled. "Senior."

The wizard's eyes grew wider and started to look glassy. Hermione squeezed his shoulder only to find a faint tremor shaking his body.

"I d-did," he stuttered. "I did not kill my father."

"I'm sorry," the girl murmured, actually feeling bad for him. From what she understood from her talking with him, this Tom Riddle did not hold any grudge against his Muggle father. Actually, there was still a hint of the child who hoped the man would take him out of that orphanage in this Riddle.

"I wouldn't… I wouldn't kill my father." A faint laugh escaped from his lips as he shook his head. "Why would I kill someone for whom I've been waiting for since I… Since I could understand the concept of mother and father?"

"I have no idea of what goes through your head, Tom." She sighed and put an arm around his shoulders, using her other hand to hold his. "I'm sorry."

They remained in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. Hermione didn't think it would be helpful trying to make him speak right now, especially because it looked like Tom would burst into sobs in case he tried to say anything. So she simply sat there, her arm around him and her hand being squeezed by his thin fingers, listening to his hitched breath. It was only when she felt the tremors on his hand ceasing that the girl looked at him, smiling softly and wishing to change the subject.

"So I think you must be twenty years old." She offered the information as if it could be used to comfort him. "This means I must rephrase what I said earlier: the idea that I have of You-Know-Who is not the one of a young man. You're not a teenager, you old thing."

"You're wrong," he whispered and she felt relieved to see him smiling, even if it was weak hint of a smile. "I'm twenty-one. My birthday was on December the thirty first."

"Well," Hermione chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder for a few seconds. "Even _older_, then."

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks, Miss RSS, for beta reading :D So... Here's the reason Tom is acting weirdly in this fic. The illustration is on my tumblr... It's not a really great one this time, sorry. (also, I'm sorry for sneaking Riddle Sr in almost all of my stories D: he's my curse or something like that, he appears in my texts before I even notice...sorry).

- **Sofia**: thank you so much! Connecting the plot with the original is the thing I dread the most D: I'm afraid of putting too much of it and then the story ends up looking too much like the book, but I'm also afraid of not putting enough of it to the point of forgetting this is set during Deathly Hallows...but I'm so glad you're enjoying it :D And Ron is like a stone in my shoe, really... I'm afraid of writing him, he's a difficult character for me to write, he and Harry, actually. But I hope I end up doing him well... Again, thanks :D

- **GenneGenevieve**: thank you! And I'm happy to hear you're enjoying it :)


	8. ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt

******ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt **

**.**

**.  
**

To Tom's delight, Potter allowed him to have his wand back after the locket incident. Weasley had brought with him a wand he had stolen from some Snatchers and that wand was given to Harry, who retrieved Bathilda's wand to Riddle, saying that it was better if they did not need to take care of him all the time in case they were attacked. After that, Hermione endeavoured to teach him more spells, even risking a few curses and hexes, and it didn't take long for Tom to master most of the spells.

There was one in particular that he couldn't manage to perform, though. The Patronus charm seemed to be the only spell that pulled him back. Hermione had told him that it was normal for someone not to master the charm at first but she had also told him that Harry had managed to perform a perfect Patronus for the first time when he was thirteen. He was twenty-one and he couldn't make more than a silvery smoke come out of his wand when he tried it. The girl had showed him her own Patronus and Riddle couldn't help but be fascinated by the silver otter that playfully floated around them for some time before disappearing. He had already seen a Patronus before, he then realized, back in the forest, the silver doe, but to see one that close and being able to reach for it with his hand was amazing.

Another little detail that was now making entire sense to Tom was why they would never call his other self by his own name. They had even refused to tell him the man's name, afraid that he would let it slip – according to Hermione, he had his moments of lack of attention and she didn't want him to say his name in one of those moments -, because it had become, according to what Weasley told them, a Taboo. If anyone said the wizard's name, they would be tracked down and all their protective spells would be rendered useless. Riddle couldn't help to think it was an amazing move.

To his delight, aside from being able to practice magic again, he was being greeted by an unusual good mood from Harry's part. The presence of Ron seemed to make the other boy more comfortable. That and the lack of the locket. But that didn't mean he actually enjoyed Ron's presence… He couldn't say much about the red haired wizard thanks to the fact they rarely ever talked but he knew the other didn't seem to like him very much. Also, Weasley's horrible habit of eating as if there was no tomorrow irked him. That and the way Ron kept using every possible moment to remark at how brilliant Hermione was. That was becoming rather annoying.

"I'm telling you it exists." Tom stood behind Ron, watching as the boy tapped the small radio they owned with his wand. "I'm just trying to remember the password. "Wulfric? No… Ah! Albus!"

The radio emitted a low noise for a few seconds before they could make out what sounded like voices. For the next minutes, the four of them stood around the radio, listening as people named River, Royal, Romulus, Rodent and Rapier talked about the war, the dead's and the current situation on the wizarding world. Apparently, all of them were known to the Harry, Ron and Hermione. In the end, Tom had to remind himself of thanking Rodent – or was it Rapier? –, in case they ever met, for making him laugh at such a stupid joke about his other self and a basilisk.

"That's amazing!" said Potter; a few minutes after the radio went silent.

"I know, right? They are risking their lives with that but it is brilliant," said Ron, smiling at his friends. "They keep us informed on what's going on, you see. What the Ministry refuses to tell people, they do. From time to time they give us relatories on missing people and, as they put it, 'dangerous individuals'."

"That seems a bit mad," whispered Tom, sitting on the armchair and looking at the trio on the floor.

"I beg you pardon?" Weasley turned around to stare at him with a raised eyebrow.

"It seems mad, to risk your life like that. I'm not saying it's not a good idea," he explained. "I just think it's mad."

"Well, some people actually think of the others and not only about themselves." Ron shrugged and turned to his friends once again as Riddle narrowed his eyes.

"All right," said Hermione, getting up and looking around. "I'll prepare us something to eat."

"Oh, good!" Tom rolled his eyes at the sight of Weasley getting up and trotting after the girl as she walked into the kitchen. In his head, the boy was slowly starting to compare Ron Weasley with an attention-seeking lapdog.

"Stop it." Harry's voice brought him back from his thoughts and just now Riddle noticed he had still been staring at the spot where Ron and Hermione had disappeared.

"What?"

"Hermione," whispered Potter.

"What are you going on about?" asked Tom.

"You know very well what I'm talking about." The green-eyed boy got up and occupied himself with putting the radio back in its place. "On another note, I never got the chance to say thank you."

"Thank you?" Riddle frowned, suddenly feeling uncomfortable by that pleasant Harry Potter that was talking to him. "For what?"

"For jumping in that lake to try helping me," he explained and, to the other wizard's surprise, a small smile tugged his lips. "Of course it was not a great help since the locket tried to drown us both." He pointed to his own neck, where the marks of the locket's chain were still visible. Instinctively, Tom looked down to his own hand, where the same red welts marked his pale skin.

"I think this is a hint for me to thank your friend for taking us both out of the water." Riddle sighed.

"I was not really thinking about it in this way but, yes, it can be a hint now." Harry laughed. "You know, you gave us quite the scare back in the forest."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean, when Ron stabbed the horcrux I had actually thought it had hurt him," the boy explained. "Then I noticed it was you who was screaming. And you were on the ground, clutching on your chest and there was no way for us to make you say what was going on. Ron didn't understand a thing, of course, but he was scared as hell, especially when you went all rigid, like, as if all of your muscles had been paralyzed, I don't know, it was pretty scary. We thought someone had cast the Cruciatus curse on you."

"The torture curse?"

"Yes. You really reacted the same way someone under it would react."

"Why are you being nice?" Tom blurted out before he could even notice.

"What?" Harry blinked, cocking his head to the side.

"You are being nice to me. You're not… Talking as if you're waiting for me to pull my wand and kill you right away, even if now I know who… what I am."

"Well, do you want to kill me?"

"No."

"Good, then we should go to the kitchen because Hermione must be almost finishing dinner."

"She just started it!"

"Magic, Riddle," said Harry, matter-of-factly.

"Ah." He watched as the other boy walked away before getting up and following him. "You know, you knocked one of my teeth out the other day," said Tom when they reached the kitchen, sitting down. "When you lost your wits and punched me out of nowhere."

"You deserved it." Potter shrugged and Tom rolled his eyes.

"Actually, it was I who pulled your tooth, Harry simply made the task easier." Hermione chuckled as she put the food on the table, being helped by Ron. "By the way, it's still on my bag. As soon as this whole mess is over, I think I can research for a spell to put it back on. Or we could ask Madam Pomfrey to do so… I mean, we surely will go back to Hogwarts, right?"

"You knocked Tom Riddle's tooth out?" asked Weasley, emphasizing his name in a way that made him shiver. "That's brilliant, Mione."

"It was not really _that_ brilliant back in the occasion," whispered Tom.

"That's because it was your tooth that was knocked off by a girl."

"I think you missed their explanation: Potter knocked it off its right place on the bone, Hermione pulled it off from my gum," explained Riddle, sighing. "But I couldn't care less about the gender of the person who made me loose a tooth, believe me. It wouldn't have been brilliant even if it was Salazar Slytherin doing it."

"Whatever you say, mate." Ron shrugged, laughing and biting into the piece of fish he had served himself with. "That's amazing, Mione!"

"Thank you, Ron." Hermione smiled and Tom forced himself to eat in order to avoid looking at the two of them. "Now, I want to talk with the three of you."

"Go ahead."

"I've been thinking… I want to visit Xenophilius Lovegood."

"Who?" asked Riddle.

"He's the father of a friend of ours. Harry said he was wearing a pendant with the same symbol we saw on Ignotus Peverell's grave, on the wedding… Maybe he knows what it means," explained Hermione, looking at the boys.

"I don't know, Mione, the last time we went after something like this we ended up with Nagini on our heels."

"Come on, mate, it's a good idea," said Ron, smiling. "We don't have to worry about old Xeno Lovegood, after all, it was him who supported you since before the Ministry's attack, right?"

"I still think…"

"Let's vote, how about that?" suggested Weasley, raising his hand in the air. "I say we go."

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he saw Hermione looking at the redhead with a tiny smile on her lips, right before raising her own hand. Sighing, Tom did the same. He couldn't help but be curious about what that symbol was.

"Three beats one!" Ron laughed. "Don't worry, Harry, it'll be all right. The worst that can happen to us in Luna's house is to be attacked by nargles."

For some reason, Tom didn't trust those nargles.

* * *

That didn't look like a house at all. Actually, it looked like a chess Rook. A bent Rook, to tell the truth. As they approached it, Tom noticed that the house could get even weirder. Its dark walls were covered in drawings – he managed to make a girl, a man and a gaunt-looking dark horse with huge wings – and there were small, orange balls floating above the bushes around the building. Riddle couldn't help but wonder if all wizarding houses were like this one.

"Well," said Ron, as they stopped in front of the stairs that led to the front door. "That's very… Luna."

"Indeed."

"What are dirigible plums?" asked Tom, reading the slab stuck next to the door.

"I think those are dirigible plums." Harry pointed at the orange floating balls before climbing up the stairs and knocking on the door. "Remember, stay ready to attack in case anything happen."

The next thing Riddle saw was the face of a man staring back at them. He was, to say the least, quite peculiar. He had a pale blonde hair that looked a bit greasy as it fell on his face, and his pale eyes were wide and glassy. The man seemed to be wearing pyjamas and a raggedy robe over them.

"Mr. Lovegood?" said Harry, giving the other a half-hearted smile. "It's me, Harry, Harry Potter. Do you remember you met me at the wedding? Well, we need your help…"

"Mr. Potter?" the man whispered, glancing at each of them quickly before opening the door wider and motioning for them to get inside. "Come in, come in!"

Hermione had taught him a few organizing and cleaning spell and Tom felt really inclined to perform one of them inside Lovegood's house. The place was a horrible mess. There were dirty dishes on the sink, a few clothes lying around, a lot of papers and magazines on the tables and floor… But, apparently, he was the only one to mind the mess, as the trio simply stalked after the man, listening to some quick greetings he was giving to them and following him to the second floor, where he said he would serve them some tea.

Once they found themselves properly sat on an old couch, with Mr. Lovegood standing in front of them, waving his wand to pour them a cup of tea, Tom allowed himself to look around the room on the second floor. It was, too, messy but resembled more of a house, like a living room. There were various curious objects all around, including an odd-looking horn on the wall – Hermione was saying something about how it was a dangerous thing but Tom didn't bother to pay attention to it - and the bust of a stern-looking woman with a strange headpiece on her head. For some reason, Riddle decided he liked the woman's statue.

"Where's Luna?"

"Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She… She will like to see you. I'll go and call her and then – very well. I shall try to help you."

Tom heard the man walking down stairs and, then, the sound of the front door being opened and closed.

"Cowardly old wart," said Ron. "Luna's got ten times his guts."

"He's probably worried about what'll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here," said Harry.

"Imagine if he discover who is with us." Tom rolled his eyes at this statement, approaching the woman's bust in order to ignore Weasley. "Ouch! _Hermione!_"

"Well, I agree with Ron," said the witch. "Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help and trying to worm out of it himself. Riddle, stay away from that horn, please!"

"I'm looking at the headpiece, not at the horn," he said, pointing at the statue.

"What is that?" asked Harry, approaching it and standing next to Riddle.

"Fetching," said Ron. "Surprised he didn't wear that to the wedding."

"What's that wedding you all talk so much about?" asked Tom.

"My brother's wedding…" Weasley started to explain just as Xenophilius reappeared on the stairs, carrying a tray of teacups and a teapot in his hands.

"Ah, you've spotted my pet invention!" he said, shoving the tray into Hermione's arms and standing by the boys. "Modelled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw. _'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!' _"

The man kept talking about the headpiece and how it was capable of increasing the wearer's intelligence. Tom didn't pay attention to it as he kept staring at the bust's face. She had a familiar face, austere and beautiful, and the phrase engraved on the headpiece seemed to ring something inside his head. When the boy came out of his thoughts once again, it was because Hermione was calling him, motioning for him to sit down next to her on the couch.

"I take it that you're familiar with the Tale of the Three Brothers, then?" Tom had lost the first part of their conversation and was only now listening to what Xenophilius was telling the other three. As he heard the question, the boy remembered reading this title on Hermione's fairy tales book. "Oh, well, I can find my copy of Beedle's tales here…"

"There's no need, Mr. Lovegood, I have mine here," said Hermione, pulling her book from her bag. The man's eyes seemed to shine as he saw it.

"Merlin's beard, it's the original one!" he laughed, nervously, and Riddle looked to the others to see if anyone was being suspicious of the man's behaviour. "Well, go on, my dear."

And then Tom heard the girl telling them the story about the three wizarding brothers who defeated Death by using magic. But it didn't take long for his thoughts to be caught by another matter… As soon as Hermione read about the first brother and his Elder Wand, Riddle couldn't hep but remember the dream he had about the man on the cell. Since he discovered that You-Know-Who was actually himself, Tom had been thinking about the possibility of the wizard who was inquiring the old man about the wand being himself, and now, listening to the story, he couldn't help but think that it would make sense if that was him, seeking for the said Unbeatable Wand.

"But that is just a fairy tale." He heard Ron's voice and shook his head. Hermione had finished reading the story and, apparently, Lovegood had just said something Weasley did not believe in.

"For some, it's just a story, but there is proof of existence of the Hallows."

"An unbeatable wand, a stone that can bring back the dead and a cloak of invisibility?" asked Hermione, frowning. "The cloak is all right, but the other two? It's rubbish. I'm sorry, Mr. Lovegood, but it makes no sense, there's no chance of objects like this to exist…"

"There are many kinds of magic you do not know about, Miss Granger," said Xenophilius, his hands twitching slightly as he looked out of the window. "Mysterious and powerful kinds of magic." The girl turned her head automatically to look at Tom, as if Lovegood had just mentioned him. The man didn't let this action pass by unnoticed, as he, too, glanced over to Riddle, cocking his head to the side, before looking back to the girl. "Oh, Luna has told me about you, young lady," said Xenophilius, smiling at Hermione. "You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded." He, then, turned to Tom once again. "I don't know you. I don't think Luna ever mentioned you," said Mr. Lovegood, approaching the boy. "What's your name?"

"He's Tom," said Hermione, quickly. "He's a friend of ours. But as I was saying, Mr. Lovegood, we know things like Invisibility Cloaks do exist. They are rare, but they do exist. Now…"

"Ah! But it's not just a simple cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm or anything like that. This kind of magic is useful in the beginning but will fade with time. We're talking about a cloak that render the wearer invisible and lasts forever! How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?"

Riddle glanced over the other three, seeing that they, too, had recognized the cloak that Xenophilius was talking about.

"See? No one ever saw a cloak like that!"

"All right, but what about the stone? That's silly, there's no way one can prove that-"

"Actually, you can't prove it does not exist too."

"But… I'm sorry but that's ridiculous! How do you want me to prove it does not exist? Do you want me to gather all the pebbles in the world and show you they are not able to bring back the dead?"

"Yes, that's a nice idea. I'm glad to see you are opening your mind a little."

"So the Elder Wand," said Harry. "You think that exists too?"

"Oh, there is endless evidence for the Elder Wand! It's the Hallow that can be most easily traced because of the way it passes from hand to hand."

"Which is what?"

"The possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner and, just then, he becomes its true master," said Xenophilius and Tom felt his stomach turn. What did the prisoner in his dream say? 'The Elder Wand lies with its last owner, buried into the ground.' "The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of the wizarding history."

As they kept talking, Riddle allowed himself to drift away from the conversation. The thought of his older self having the wand somehow scared him. Of course, it also was fascinating to think of having an unbeatable wand but he was not sure if he trusted his other self with such a powerful his hands. After a few more words, Xenophilius got up, saying something about them staying for dinner.

"What a waste of time," whispered Hermione.

"I suppose this is the man who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," said Ron."

"You don't believe it either?" Harry asked him.

"Nah, that's just one of those stories you tell kids to teach them lessons, you know? Maybe that story is why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky."

"What do you mean?" asked Tom, frowning.

"One of those superstitions, isn't it? 'May-born witches will marry Muggles.' 'Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.' 'Wand of elder, never prosper.' Come on, you must have heard it before…"

"I was raised by Muggles. I learnt different superstitions, like the 'something borrowed, something blue, something old and something new'," explained Tom."

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Ron, grimacing.

"In weddings, the bride should wear something borrowed, something blue, something old and something new, for good luck," said Hermione. "But you're right, I do think it's just another morality tale, it's obvious which gift is the best, which one you'd choose…"

As she said it, the four of them spoke at the same time; Hermione said "the Cloak"; Ron said "the Wand"; and Harry and Tom said, "the Stone."

"You know you wouldn't need to be invisible if you had an unbeatable wand, Hermione!"

"And we're already got an Invisibility Cloak," said Harry.

"Which helped us a lot through the years," said Hermione. "The Wand would attract trouble and the Stone… It's ridiculous, there's no magic that can bring back the dead."

"But it would be a good choice," whispered Harry. "If we could bring back Sirius, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, my parents…"

"But the story say they wouldn't want to come back, right?" asked Tom, seeing the girl flash a worried look in his direction.

"As I said, there's no such a thing as bringing back the dead," murmured Hermione, her voice finally sounding softer and less snotty.

As they kept talking, Tom looked over to the stairs that led to the lower floor. Xenophilius had gone down apparently to prepare dinner and wait for his daughter but there was no sound coming from down there.

"Harry, what are you doing? I don't think you should look around when he's not here!"

As he heard the trio discussing about Potter's curiosity, Riddle approached the stair, stretching his neck in order to see what was going on below. He saw Lovegood fumbling downstairs, walking up and down the kitchen and mumbling to himself. Tom remembered how angry Hermione had been when he told her he had been looking into her mind but surely she wouldn't mind if he peaked inside Xenophilius', right? After all, it would be to confirm a suspicion of his.

Concentrating and fixing his gaze on the wizard's nervous figure, ignoring the noises coming from the upper floor, the boy quickly managed to pass by his barriers, invading his mind without any trouble. Xenophilius' thoughts were like his house: messy, awfully messy, but Tom did manage to make out a few silhouettes amongst them. Dark, cloaked figures; fear; a blonde girl; Lovegood's terrified voice… _'I've got him, I've got Harry Potter.'_

Letting his control over the man's mind go, Riddle ran up the stairs, finding the trio standing in the middle of a bedroom. On the ceiling above them, there were paintings of their faces. That little detail would have locked his attention longer if it wasn't for what he had just seen.

"We've got to get out of here," he said, making the others turn to look at him. "Right now."

"What?" asked Ron. "Why?"

"Lovegood called on the Death Eaters," said Tom, gripping Hermione by the arm and pulling her downstairs.

"Oh, come on, stop being so obnoxious…" The boys followed them, not seeming a bit amused by his news.

"I'm telling the truth, Weasley! I looked into his mind! I saw it and…"

"Mr. Lovegood," whispered Hermione, looking at something behind Tom's back. The boy turned to see Xenophilius standing there. His face was paler and his hands were shaking now.

"They took_ my Luna,_" he whispered, licking his lips and approaching Harry, walking past Tom, his eyes fixed on the boy's scars. "Because of what I've been writing. They took my Luna and I don't know where she is, what they've done to her. But they might give her back to me if I… if I…"

"Hand over Harry?" Hermione finished.

"They'll be here at any moment. I must save Luna, please, understand that…" he said, his voice shaking as he spread his arms in front of the stair case.

"Mr. Lovegood…" whispered Potter and Riddle put his hand into his pocket, gripping his wand tightly.

"Harry!"

The girl was pointing at the window. Out there, figures on broomsticks were flying in the house's direction. While they were occupied looking at them, Lovegood took his wand out and, just in time, Harry crashed his body into theirs, shoving them aside as a spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent horn.

There was a loud explosion and, then, a lot of different sounds. Harry was screaming, just like Hermione, while Ron kept cursing. There were pieces of wood everywhere and Xenophilius was nowhere to be seen, most likely blasted off down the stairs. Propping himself on his elbows, Tom saw the damaged room and Hermione, standing in the middle of it. Her face was white, covered with dust, as she looked at them and pressed her finger to her lips.

"Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?" A rough voice was heard from downstairs. "Didn't I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?"

Tom flinched as he heard Xenophilius screaming, suddenly remembering the pain he had felt when Ron destroyed the horcrux. What did Potter say? It looked like he was under the Cruciatus curse. He was really not interested in being put under this curse if it resembled that pain.

"Let's get out of here," he mouthed to Hermione, who simply shook her head.

"No… Upstairs… Potter!"

"I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren't coming back for anything less than information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before." Another scream that made Tom frown. "When you thought we'd give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumpet." A loud bang. "Headed." A scream._ "Snorkacks?_"

"No, no, I beg you! It really is Potter! Really!"

"You lying piece of filth," shouted one of the wizards. "You've never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you would lure us here to blow us up? And you think you'll get your girl back like this!"

"I swear… I swear… Potter's upstairs!"

"_Homenum revelio,"_ said the voice at the foot of the stairs.

"I told you to get us out!" whispered Riddle as he heard Hermione gasping as she heard the spell.

"You get up there and give us Potter, and your girl is yours," said one of the Death Eaters. "If it's a plot, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury."

Tom dig himself free. Harry and Ron did the same, taking a bit longer, and, as they were buried deeper under what once was the ceiling. Hermione quickly approached them, waving Potter's Cloak into Ron's face.

"Hide under it and give your hand. You two, hold onto me too."

"But Harry…"

"Just do it, Ron!"

Tom gripped Hermione's arm with one hand, the other holding his wand, and watched as Lovegood's pale face finally appeared on the stairs. The girl pointed her wand at the man and shouted a spell, right before pointing at the floor below them. Suddenly, they were falling. His fingers squeezed the witch's arm as he managed to see two men trying to get up the stairs. The Death Eaters stared at them, wide eyed, for a few seconds, right before Hermione twisted in midair and darkness engulfed them.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks, Miss RSS, for beta reading. This chapter is.. a lot like in the books, sorry, but I couldn't change too many things in it.

- **Limadunia**: thank you :D I'm really happy to hear you're enjoying the story so far *-*

Illustration for this chapter is on my tumblr. Thank you so much everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed the story so far and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please, tell me what you think of it. (:


	9. ex animo

**ex animo**

**.**

**.  
**

"I want to go to Little Hangleton."

Tom Riddle knew very well he would receive the crooked glances Harry, Ron and Hermione shot him once he told them of his idea. Of course, there was no reason for them to go to the small village in East Yorkshire, but he wanted to, he had wanted to do so since Hermione told him about his father. And, after their fiasco at the Lovegood's, he could say that a quick visit to a Muggle village couldn't turn out worse than what happened back in their friend's house.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Ron, raising an eyebrow.

"Why do you want to go there?" Potter frowned.

"I just want," he whispered, shrugging as he watched the trio sitting by the table as he stood in front of them. "I don't know, maybe You-Know-Who hid a horcrux there?"

"He didn't," said Hermione. "We've already been there. The only one that was in Little Hangleton has already been destroyed."

"Ah… Well, I thought we could drop by…"

"Look, Riddle, I don't think it's wise for us to-"

"I think we can drop by, Harry," said the girl, smiling up to him.

"Hermione, I thought you are the one who is supposed to say 'no way' in situations like this one," said Weasley.

"We've went there once and nothing happened. It was pretty safe, remember?" she asked. "Also, it would be a quick visit, right?"

"Yes."

"You and Ron can stay out of the town's limits and wait for us…"

"Whoa, wait, who said you and him are going alone?" asked Ron, scowling at them.

"Would you prefer for them to come with you?" Hermione asked, looking at Riddle.

"No…" Tom whispered.

"And since when it's a matter of what he wants?"

"Since it's a personal matter the one Tom will take care there." Hermione turned to look at Harry, giving him a serious look. "Please, Harry, I know you understand it."

Potter stayed in silence for a long minute before sighing, shaking his head.

"All right. Ron and I will stay near the Gaunt's, under the cloak," he said. "And the two of you go… Into the village. To do whatever you want to do."

"What? Harry, that's madness! You can't leave Hermione alone with him!"

"Excuse me, Ronald, but I think I can take care of myself just fine," said Hermione, sounding stern, as she stared at the red haired boy.

"I know you can, Mione, but…"

"Then you know I can very well accompany Tom into Little Hangleton without the need of being escorted by you and Harry."

Tom couldn't help but try to hide the smile that appeared on his face as Weasley shrank into his chair right before Hermione turned to give a quick look at him.

* * *

The sky was dark above them as they walked into the small graveyard of Little Hangleton. The cold wind that made them wrap their clothes tighter around themselves seemed to fit with the clouded sky and the sad atmosphere of the place. It looked a lot like Godric's Hollow cemetery, except for the fact the church next to it was silent and there was no snow covering the wet grass. As they walked across it, Hermione busied herself with reading the names on the tombstones that stuck out of the grass while Tom kept walking until he found the tomb he was looking for.

Riddle couldn't help but shiver as he looked upon the grave, wondering who the hell had designed it. The huge stone angel was not the kind of gentle, sad statue one always saw on graveyards, but an intimidating skeleton holding a sickle, its stone wings folded behinds its back. The statue didn't seem to be looking over the dead lying under its feet, but guarding them like a watchman would guard his prisoners. Getting over the initial intimidation caused by the angel, Tom took a few steps towards the grave, staring at the names written on the stone. His grandfather had been sixty-three when he died; his grandmother, sixty; and his father, thirty-eight.

"How did I kill them?" he asked as he felt Hermione's presence by his side.

"The Killing Curse." The boy stretched out his arm in order to brush his fingers over the engraved names.

"Three Toms in the same family." He let a soft, humourless laugh escape from his lips, before raising his head and taking a few steps back. "Is that their house?"

He pointed to the outline of what seemed to be a big house on the distance.

"Yes."

"You've been there?"

"Yes, we were… We were looking for horcruxes," she explained.

"Is it safe?" Tom asked. "Can… Can we go in there?"

"I… I think we can, yes." She smiled to him, offering him her hand. "Brace yourself."

As always, the odd feeling of apparition wrapped itself around them and, when he opened his eyes, they were standing on a dark, empty hallway. The smell of mold crept up his nose and he could see the floor and the walls were decaying, covered with dust and spider webs. The girl nodded at Riddle, gesturing for him to go on, that she would stay there.

The first room he entered looked like a drawing room. There were armchairs, a couch, a small table where the inhabitants most likely used to sit to drink their tea, a fireplace with various portraits and bibelots on the top of its mantelpiece, a rusty mirror hung over the fireplace, shelves filled with books on the walls and, what caught his attention the most, a dark grand piano right next to the front window. Tom's heart sank as he saw how damaged by time the instrument was while he approached it, opening its lid and running his fingers over its keys, pressing one or another from time to time. It still let out a few tuneless sounds to his surprise. He wondered who in the family used to play it. His grandmother, most likely.

He moved over to the fireplace, staring at the objects on the top of it. Tom grabbed one of the photo-frames, cleaning the dust from its glass with his sleeve to see a beautiful, smiling couple looking back at him. It was a wedding picture. The woman's face was brightened by a gentle smile as she stared at him with dark eyes, while the man, although smiling looked more restrained. Their hands were clasped together in front of them and Tom couldn't help but smile as he put the frame back into its place before grabbing another one. This one had a man on its photograph. He looked a lot like the groom from the previous picture but Riddle could see the woman's trace in his face, especially in his smile. The boy couldn't help but notice the man's smile actually reached his eyes, something that could be seen even in that old photo.

Tom felt his breath quicken as he stared down at the photo. He had spent many days of his childhood imagining that man and, to his surprise, he was almost exactly as he imagined him. An older version of himself. The only difference was that his father looked more relaxed and happier than he would ever look in a photo. Biting down on his lips, the boy fumbled with the frame, opening its back and taking the photo out of it before tucking it into his pocket. After that, he did the same with the couple's photo. They were his relatives; therefore he had the right to take these photos, right?

Turning his attention back to the mantelpiece, Riddle found himself carefully handling a small, red egg with little feet in the shade of gold and little golden details and what looked like tiny crystals adorning its surface. He smiled, opening the egg and finding a folded paper in it. Unfolding it, the boy scowled as he saw a bunch of unknown letters written on it with a neat calligraphy. He put the egg away but kept the paper, placing it in his pocket with the photographs. He laughed as his fingers tightened around a wooden doll that stood on the far end of the mantelpiece. He had seen those. Dr. Mazarovski had one in his office and he knew that, if he opened the neatly painted doll, he would find the other four little sisters of her inside. Just like the rest of the house, the nesting doll was, too, decayed. Her paint was already scrapped in a few points and the wood felt fragile under his fingers.

Putting the doll down, Tom moved forward towards the next room. As much as he would like to spend hours in each room, he knew Hermione would want them to go back as soon as possible. The room next to the drawing room, connected to it through a double door, was an office. There were bookshelves and cabinets on its walls and a wooden desk sat in front of the windows with two comfortable looking chairs in front of it. Although dusty and old, the place, too, still held all of its original objects. Many books on the shelves had their titles written in what Riddle recognized as the Cyrillic alphabet, others, in English, were about calculus and finances from what he could tell from their titles. As he exited the room through another double door, the wizard wondered if it was his father or his grandfather who used to work in that office. From the photographs he had found, his grandfather seemed to be more like the type of person who would feel more comfortable with working in a place like that.

The next room had most of its furnishings covered with yellowed sheets. Pulling one of them, Tom found himself looking to a painting depicting a newlywed couple. His grandparents, in the same pose they appeared in the photo he had taken from its frame, but now in colour. Riddle smiled slightly as he noticed Mrs. Riddle's eyes, different from what he had thought from looking at the photograph, were actually blue. A way darker blue than Mr. Riddle's but it was, without question, a beautiful colour. As he walked across the room, unveiling the other objects, he discovered most of them were other paintings. Tom knew nothing about art, but he could tell two different people painted them: their styles were slightly different from one another. There was one that caught his attention, a pretty depiction of what he recognized as the Winter Palace from St. Petersburg, which had a small signature on its lower right corner, a mess of letters through which he made out his grandmother's name. On couple's painting, on the other hand, the wizard found, after taking a better look at it, two small letters, also on its lower right corner: T and R.

"Tom?" The boy turned around to see Hermione standing on the door that led to the office. "We're almost going, okay?"

"All right." The boy nodded, walking back to the hall and leaving the girl behind. He quickly made his way up to the second floor and, almost as if he already knew his way inside the house, entered the first door on his right.

It was a bedroom with a huge bed on it, most likely belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Riddle. Walking over the vanity mirror in front of the bed, Tom let his fingers brush against the delicate objects on the top of it: hairbrushes, hand-mirrors, old pots and vials of make-up and perfume, hairpins, a few jewellery… He wondered if there was no one to whom all these things should have gone or if there was no one who had to do the job of putting the Riddles object away after their death. Then he remembered Mrs. Cole and how the woman took years to get rid of her husband and daughter's belongings after their deaths. Maybe his family also had relatives who decided it would be better to leave everything the way it was before they passed away.

Compared to the organization of the previous room, the next bedroom he entered was a complete mess. The wardrobe's doors were open and, inside it, aside from the clothes, were several books tucked in there as if in a hurry. On the desk in front of one of the windows, there were more books, notebooks, papers and pencils. Photographs of people he didn't know were pinned to the wall around the window. Approaching the desk and putting the papers aside, Tom found several drawings and sketches, all of them with the same signature he had found on his grandparents' painting. So it was his father the one who painted it. The knowledge of this fact made him feel like the visit to Little Hangleton had been worth the headache he must have been causing to the trio.

He was about to leave when something caught his attention. On the top of the desk, almost hidden by books, there was a small, delicately decorated jewellery box. The boy frowned, taking it in his hands and seeing that, apparently, Tom Riddle Sr. had been trying to draw it, from the messy sketches that lay under the box, thus the reason it was in his room and not on Mrs. Riddle's vanity mirror. Turning it in his hands, Riddle analysed the golden details on its surface before finding, on its underside, a small key. The boy laughed quietly, winding it up, before opening the lid.

Taking a few steps back until he could sit on the bed, Tom listened to the soft music that came out of the box while watching the tiny figures of a couple whirling inside it. Closing the lid and placing the music box inside his pocket, along with the photographs, the boy looked around, biting down on his lower lip.

"I thought I had lost you inside this house." He heard Hermione's voice but didn't reply. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." He cursed himself as he heard how his voice came out sounding a bit strangled.

"I've heard you were a great liar," said the witch, approaching him and sitting next to him on the bed. "But I'm now seeing you're a terrible one."

"I am fine. Or no, I'm not… I don't know."

"You are crying," she said, as if stating the obvious. "But then, crying does not always mean not being all right."

"I'm not cryi-"He brought his fingers to his eyes and was surprised to feel his face wet under their tips. "Why did I… Why did I do it?"

"You-Know-Who found out his father was a Muggle," she explained, putting a hand over his and squeezing. "And that he had left his mother, a witch. He was mad because he thought that, maybe, if his father had been there, his mother wouldn't have died. Also, because Riddle never went after him at the orphanage. You-Know-Who thought the best solution for this was to kill his father, as some kind of revenge, I think."

"But I wanted him." Riddle shook his head. "I still don't know why, but I had always thought more of my father than of my mother. Maybe it was because he could still be alive… Or maybe because, from what I heard from the staff, he seemed to be fitter to raise a child than my mother. Anyway, I… I used not to care about when he would come and get me, you know? Even if I had to go look for him. I just wanted to…"

"You may have wanted to get to know your father, Tom," said Hermione, sighing. "But the rest of You-Know-Who's soul wanted to get back on him for leaving your mother. And, even if goodness is a strong trait, anger can be more violent and strong depending on the situation. Back in 1943, You-Know-Who's anger and need for revenge was stronger than his want of a father and his childhood's thoughts about his family. That's why he did it."

"Hermione?" he called, his eyes fixed on the photograph of a beautiful, blond woman on pinned next to the window. "Remember what I said about not wanting to be buried on Abney Park in case anything happened?"

"Oh, no, we are not going to get into this subject again."

"Look, just listen to me, all right?" said Tom, turning to look at her. "If, by any chance, something happen to me, do you think it's possible for me to be put here in Little Hangleton? Along with my family?"

"Tom, nothing is going to-"

"Please, Hermione," whispered Riddle. "Remember: do not bury me in Abney Park. Try to bring me here, with them. Please."

"All right, all right, but I repeat: nothing is going to happen. When this war is over, you'll be alive and well, just like Harry, Ron and I," she said. She was pretty sure Tom would, indeed, walk out of the war unharmed, independent of how it would end, even if when it came to her and her friends she was not completely confident about their wellbeing after the end of that whole mess. "Now, was it worth coming here? Harry and Ron will be mad if they notice you didn't think the visit was worth it."

"Oh, yes, it was." The boy allowed himself to laugh softly. "It was really… Amazing. Being able to come here, I mean."

"It's a beautiful house. Must have been wonderful when they were still living in here," she whispered, looking around. "I saw the paintings downstairs. Apparently you come from a family of artists."

"Apparently yes, even if I have none of their talent for that."

"If you consider art only as painting and drawing…"

"Yes, that's what I consider art," he said, turning his head to look at the girl as he closed his fingers around hers. "And thank you for… Bringing me here."

"Oh." Hermione laughed, petting the side of his face with her other hand before getting up. "You're welcome. But I think we have to go now."

"Yes, of course." Tom cleaned his throat, giving one last look at the bedroom, trying to absorb as much information he could from it, before following her downstairs.

* * *

Harry took a sip of his coffee before looking up to Ron and Hermione. The girl was slowly becoming friendlier towards Ron as time passed, even if he knew it would take a lot of time for her to stop giving the redhead those cold looks of her, and that was already a great thing. Harry had seen how devastated Hermione was after their friend left them at the forest, only getting out of that state when Riddle showed up thanks to the fact she now had something to do, even if it was taking care of a younger Lord Voldemort. But now she was starting to warm up towards Ron once again and that was enough to make the boy feel extremely pleased.

"So, was he happy with the visit to the Riddles?" asked Ron, looking over to Hermione.

"Yes, he actually was really pleased with it."

"I tell you, Mione, you're the only person in the world capable of acting so friendly towards him."

"I'm just acting as I would act with anyone else, Ron."

"Well, yes, but he is not anyone else, right? He's the madman that's trying to kill us."

"Stop it."

"Come on, I bet Harry agrees with me… Right, mate?" asked Ron, looking over to the other boy.

"Hermione and I went through this subject a lot already," said Harry, shrugging. "And I have no idea of what to think. Riddle actually warned us about Xenophilius, didn't he? I mean, yes, we did not listen to him but he tried…"

"Are you siding up with him?"

"I'm not. I'm just saying it's of no use to keep discussing that. And I would rather not having him listening to us talking about him like that," explained the dark haired boy.

"Me too," said Hermione. "It's not good for anyone to hear others calling them…"

"A madman who is trying to kill you all."

The trio turned to see Tom standing on the kitchen's entrance. Even though they were spending days without being able to take very good care of themselves, Riddle had proved to be the tidier of them all but now he looked very much like a train wreck. His hair was messy, his face looked paler and his eyes were reddened. Hermione bit down on her lower lip, quickly looking to her friends before turning to the other again.

"Tom…"

"I'm not mad," he whispered, the muscles over his jaw clenching.

"No one said you are mad, Tom," said the girl in a gentle tone.

"He said." Tom pointed at Ron, who simply frowned. "He thinks I'm going to murder you."

"You have to understand, mate, that it's the most logical thing for us to think about you…"

"Ron!"

"Aren't I right!?"

"I am not him!" Riddle shouted and Hermione could feel something changing around them. Tom's magic, again, slowly getting out of control. "I am not You-Know-Who! When will you understand that!?"

"I'm sorry but the last time a Tom Riddle appeared near us – a pretty, polite Tom Riddle like you – my sister was almost killed by the bastard!" Ron got up and so did Harry, putting his hand into his pocket in search for his wand. "I think I do have a good reason to be suspicious about you. Especially after seeing you being all Mr. Nice Bloke with Hermione. If you think I'll let you lure her like you did to my sister…!"

"What…? I'm not trying to lure her in any way! I'm just…"

"You are just being friendly? Yeah, Ginny also thought you were really friendly when you tried to suck her life out of her body."

"Ron Weasley, stop it!" This time it was Hermione who got up and grabbed her wand. If Ron didn't shut up, Riddle would lose his control again, like he did back when they duelled.

"Both of you stop!" said Harry, putting himself between the two boys. "The last thing we need here is another row, so stop! Riddle, Ron is just worried, all right? And Ron, the discussion about Riddle being or not Vol-"

"Harry, no!" Both Ron and Hermione screamed. Riddle, on the other hand, simply frowned.

"-demort is over, do you understand?"

"The name's is Taboo!" Ron said just as a loud crack echoed outside the tent. "I told you, Harry, I told you we couldn't say it!"

"We have to put the protection back around us," whispered Hermione, pulling her wand.

"What happened?" asked Tom, turning to look at an odd object that was on the top of a table, lip up and spinning. Soon, they could hear voices on the outside. Ron pulled what looked like a lighter out of his pocket and clicked it. All the lights went out.

"Come out of there with your hands up!" A rasping voice came from the darkness. "We know you are in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don't care who we curse!"

* * *

**A/N:** I guess that was the best description of the Riddle house I've ever written... I have this whole house planned up in my head but I can never bring myself to describe it. This chapter has a lot of details from headcanons I have about the Riddles, I'm sorry if they seemed a bit vague, but there was not too much I would do to explain them here as we're seeing the story through Tom and Hermione's eyes and they don't know much about the Riddles. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks everyone who reviewed until now and thanks to Vicky for beta reading it :3 Please, tell me what you are thinking abou the story and about this chapter.


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